


Embers

by lindirs_gaze



Series: The Witcher Series [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Interdimensional Travel, M/M, bagginshield power duo, killing monsters, no witcher knowledge needed to enjoy!, witcher!thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18063983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindirs_gaze/pseuds/lindirs_gaze
Summary: "The embers in the heart of Thorin grew hot again, as he brooded on the wrongs of his House and the vengeance upon the Dragon that he had inherited."Thorin Oakenshield's quest to slay the dragon Smaug leads him to a new world, with strange monsters and unexpected alliances in his path. AU.





	1. Chapter 1

“Help! Somebody, help me!”

Thorin stepped around a large bush and sped up his pace. The cries of the merchant echoed off the walls of the small ravine, but they were loud enough to indicate that Thorin was getting close.

Intermingled with the man’s cries was the faint growling of monsters. He had to hurry.

If the sound hadn’t drawn him in the right direction, the tracks would have served him well enough. The wagon had left a trail of destruction through the brush, snapping branches and leaving deep tracks in the mud as the panicked horse had fled.

The next indication of chaos slithered its way through the air, and Thorin tilted his head at the stench of blood leaking from just beyond a copse of trees. The faint growling of monsters rumbled low to the ground. When he finally entered the clearing where the wagon had stopped, he was relieved to find that the source of the smell was the horse, not the merchant himself.

The ghouls were perched on the downed beast, their claws and faces slick with blood as they tore flesh from the side of its body. The wagon and its owner were a few feet away, the front wheels of the vehicle almost half-buried in mud.

Though the horse had taken the worst of the damage, Thorin noted that the driver was not entirely unharmed. He must have been thrown from the wagon before it crashed, as his legs were caught and half-crushed beneath the spokes of one of the back wheels.

“Please,” the man gasped as he caught sight of Thorin. “H-Help!”

His cry finally attracted the attention of the ghouls, who had until recently been focused on the larger source of meat. A couple climbed from the haunches of the horse with matching red-stained sneers.

Thorin slid his silver sword from its sheath and skirted the edge of the clearing, readying his weapon as the ghouls turned their sunken black eyes towards him. They were ugly, misshapen creatures, all rotten flesh and bulging, veiny muscles. 

As the first one lunged, long black claws outstretched, Thorin dodged to the side. It landed with a grown, and a second later his blade entered its neck, just below the base of its skull. He sidestepped again as its companion attacked in the same manner, and his blade left a long, deep cut along its right flank. Dangerous as ghouls were, they were predictable, and if one had experience, they were easy to take down.

Thorin sliced the head from the second one’s body and faced the remaining three. They turned, snarling, from the horse’s corpse and lunged as a group. With his free hand, he cast  _ Igni _ , and the simple spell threw the creatures back with a burst of flame. He made quick work of the ghouls while they were downed, and flicked their blood from his sword.

The merchant behind him gave a stuttering gasp, followed by a groan as he attempted to extricate himself from beneath the wagon wheel. Thorin turned to face him, sword still in hand, and the man paused in his efforts.

“Thank you,” the merchant said, his voice strained. “I-If you would be so kind as to help me up, I will gladly offer you a portion of my goods as payment.”

“I don’t want your goods,” Thorin said, stepping closer. “You can pay me in information. Where is Phineas Ward?”

At this, the man stiffened. “W-Who?”

“Don't bother lying to me. You’ve had dealings with him before, and you were one of the last people to see him before he disappeared.” Thorin knelt down next to the merchant, eyes boring into his. He’d been tracking this wagon for miles now, and his patience was wearing thin. “Where is he?”

“I’ll tell you nothing…” The man grit his teeth as he attempted to free himself once more. “Because I know nothing.” He stilled again as Thorin’s blade came to rest just above his throat. “Y-You wouldn’t. Witchers are monster killers. I am but a simple merchant. You…” He trailed off in his pleading as Thorin sheathed his blade.

“You’re right. The silver sword is for monsters.” He reached back and drew his other blade, this one made of steel. “My mistake.”

The merchant glared, switching from pleading to defiant in an instant. “Have at it, then. Cut my throat, and prove true what everyone already knows—that you witchers are the real monsters, the whole lot of you.” He stopped, still glowering, as Thorin stood up.

“Where is this sudden courage coming from?” He kept his voice calm, though he was losing his patience. He walked away from the man and picked up one of the dead ghouls by the arm. “You seemed all too ready to beg for my help when this was crawling about.” He punctuated his statement by tossing the ghoul in his direction.

The merchant jerked away as the beast landed next to his head, red-slicked jaws inches from his face.

“Now...” Before the man could recover, Thorin strode back over and placed one boot on the wagon wheel, making the man howl. “Phineas Ward. Focus. Where is he?”

The merchant’s pained cry turned into a groan. “H-He’ll have my head if I tell. He’ll know it was me, I’m the only one left who knows where he went.”

Thorin sighed, keeping his weight on the wheel. He didn’t enjoy interrogations, nor did he appreciate the amount of time it took, but he’d not yet mastered the  _ Axii _ sign, and was unable to simply bewitch information out of people as other witchers could. “I’ll have your head right now if you don’t give me the information I need.”

“Look, whatever Ward stole from you, I-I’ll pay you its worth in gold. I’ll find you a replacement. Whatever you want!”

“What he stole from me can’t be replaced,” Thorin said. “You tell me where he is, or I’ll leave you here until more ghouls come. And I promise they will take their time rending the flesh from your bones.”

The man spat at him. “You can rot—” He was cut off with another cry as Thorin applied more pressure to the wheel. “Skellige! H-He’s in Skellige, an old watchtower one one of the islands, please!”

Thorin took his foot off and cursed. Of course the rat would try and cross the sea to save his skin.

“I’ve given you what you wanted.” The merchant was panting, no doubt shaken from the pain in his leg. “Will you help me up, now?”

Thorin looked at him for a long moment. He could not risk someone alerting Ward that he was being pursued. His search for the thief had dragged out long enough, and he could not afford another setback.

It didn’t sit well with him, killing a downed man, but there was more at stake than the life of a single merchant.

The merchant let out a gurgling gasp as Thorin’s sword entered his chest. Without looking back, he jerked it out, wiped off the blood, and sheathed it. More ghouls and other monsters would flock to the area soon, and he had no desire to be there when they did.

Thorin set off through the woods, turning his gaze to the west, towards Skellige. The group of islands was situated across the sea, so his next step was to find a vessel willing to take him across. From there he would find the man who had stolen from him, retrieve what he had lost, and after that…

After that he would finally have a chance to go home. And Thorin would stop at nothing to reach it.

* * *

 

_ “Take back your homeland.” _

_ Thorin sat back, meeting the wizard’s shrewd gaze. Erebor had long been on his mind, but as of late his thoughts had turned more frequently towards his home. His people were safe in the Blue Mountains, but it was ever in the back of his head that they deserved more. His grandfather, his father, his brother, all the other good dwarves they had lost—their sacrifice could not have been for the simple victory of survival. _

_ And now a wizard of all people had shown up in the crowded tavern and was showing interest in a quest that many of his kin had looked upon with doubt and reluctance. “This is no chance meeting, is it, Gandalf?” _

_ “No.” Gandalf leaned forward. “The Lonely Mountain troubles me. That dragon has sat there long enough. Sooner or later, darker minds will turn towards Erebor. Thorin, you can wait no longer. With the dragon gone and the throne of Durin restored, defenses would be strengthened in the east.” The shadows in the crowded room seemed to grow deeper as he spoke. “And I believe we will need those defenses. A darkness is coming, from where I know not, but none will be safe if they gain a foothold in the mountain.” _

_ Orcs had grown bolder in their attacks as of late, that was true. If Gandalf was sincere in his predictions about the mountain, then they had a common goal. But that did not change the fact that Erebor was lost to them.  _

_ “And how do you propose I reclaim the mountain? Not even the Seven Armies of the dwarves could defeat a dragon.” He knew any attempts to reclaim the mountain through military means would only result in more casualties, and he was loathe to ask that of a people that had already lost so much to war and violence. _

_ “It is true that those strong enough to slay a dragon have long since passed from this world.” Gandalf folded his hands on the table. “Which is why we must extend our search beyond. Have you ever heard of a witcher?” _

_ Thorin shook his head.  _

_ “They are not of this world. A witcher is a powerful warrior, trained and altered to become an expert monster hunter. I believe if we were to find one powerful enough, the dragon could be slain.” _

_ “No.” His jaw clenched. “I do not hire mercenaries, and I will not ask another to fight my battles. Smaug has usurped the kingdom of Durin’s people, and it shall be one of Durin’s line who reclaims it.” _

_ Gandalf was silent for a moment, his expression inscrutable beneath his wild gray beard. For a moment, Thorin was forced to reconsider his words. If this was his only chance at reclaiming a future for his people, at restoring the legacy of his line, would he really throw it away for pride? _

_ “Then I may have another solution in mind.” _

_ Thorin lifted his head. _

_ “You will travel yourself to the world of the witchers. Your body will be strengthened, your senses honed, so that you may possess the physical prowess needed to hunt monsters. You will train with them, learn from them, and when you have developed the skills necessary, you will return to this world and kill the dragon yourself. Though you may spend years there, only a few days will have passed when you return.” _

_ A dozen questions crowded to the tip of his tongue, but Thorin held them. It was not a simple solution that Gandalf was proposing. It was possible that he would never return. But if that was what it took to return to Erebor, then he would have to take that chance. _

_ “Tell me what I need to do.” _

* * *

 

**Present Day**

Thorin blinked as reality reasserted itself, and absentmindedly lifted the tankard in his hand to his lips. The crowded, boisterous atmosphere of the Seven Cats Inn had transported him back to a different tavern, a different time, a different world. It had been ten years since his arrival in the world of the witchers, known by most as the Continent, but his meeting with the wizard still resonated in his mind.

Gandalf’s magic had not only granted him passage between worlds—it had also changed him. His senses had been enhanced, and he was stronger and faster now.

And with it all had come the feature that set witchers apart from others. His eyes, once a piercing blue, had turned yellow, with cat-like pupils that helped him see in the dark. 

Too often his gaze had been met with fright and consternation by those who distrusted witchers. Added to this was the loathing that came from those who hated nonhumans, including dwarves.

A group of soldiers across the room sent another bundle of suspicious glances in his direction, and Thorin took that as his cue to leave. He stood up and walked to the counter to pay for his drink.

Thorin pushed open the tavern door and stepped out into the cool fall air. Soon he would rejoin his kin. He had spent most of his time training with the witchers in the mountains to the north, learning about different monsters and how to kill them. He had paid special attention to those classified as draconids. They were creatures similar to Smaug, though only a fraction of his size, and Thorin knew memorizing their weaknesses would be useful for when he battled the dragon in his home.

He was ready now. But the object Gandalf had given him to return home—a black key—had been stolen from him by a thief named Phineas Ward. Without the key, he was trapped here.

The papers on the notice board outside the tavern rustled lightly in the wind. Thorin stopped in front of it and scanned the flyers. If there were any contracts offered in the area, taking one might give him the extra coin he needed for a boat to Skellige. One in particular caught his eye:

_ Good folk, _

_ There has been a large, bird-like creature spotted in the eastern hills of the Grassy Knoll. It has been killing off livestock, attacking farmers, and has most everyone in the area afraid to leave their homes. _

_ If anyone is willing to rid the area of the beast, they will receive a handsome reward. _

_ —Bilbo Baggins of Bag End _

He took the notice down from the board, stuffed it in his pocket, and set off to find Bag End.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

#  **Chapter 2**

 

Bag End was a small estate a couple miles of east of the Seven Cats Inn. As Thorin walked along the sloping path leading to the front door, he scanned the area. A small stream bordered the property on one side, and green fields surrounded the rest. On his way from the tavern, he had caught the scent of blood in a couple spots—a few days old, but evidence enough that there had been a series of attacks on the neighboring farms. 

Thorin walked up to the front door and knocked on the green-painted wood. He listened for the sound of approaching footsteps and heard nothing—and was therefore surprised when the door opened to reveal the owner of the house.

Bilbo Baggins was a halfling. Thorin had guessed as much from his name as well as little details like the placement of the doorknob and the height of the steps leading up to the door. Halflings were stealthier than other races, Thorin reminded himself. And just like their counterparts in the Shire of his home world, they preferred the comforts of simplicity and normality.

That much was clear in the widening of Bilbo’s eyes as he took in the newcomer standing on his front stoop.

“You put up a notice about a monster in the area,” Thorin said.

“Oh.” At this, Bilbo raised his eyebrows and some of the tension fell from his shoulders. “Yes, of course. You must be a witcher, then?”

He nodded. “Tell me about the monster. When it attacked, its targets, what it looked like.”

“I can do more than tell you. Why don’t you come in?” Bilbo stepped back, giving him room to step inside.

Thorin felt his own eyebrows rise. Most people were loathe to let witchers within a mile of their home, much less invite one inside. Bilbo was looking at him expectantly, one hand propped up against the edge of the door, so Thorin stepped inside, turning so Bilbo could close the door behind him.

“One of the farmers close by was attacked a few days ago,” the halfling said, leading the way past a sitting room with a crackling fireplace, a clean kitchen, a couple closed doors. “I was looking around the spot where it happened, and I found something that I believe may be of use to you.”

They stopped inside a small room furnished with a desk and a bookshelf. Both pieces of furniture, as well as a good portion of the floor, were covered with papers and books. Thorin’s eyes wandered over a map of the surrounding area, as well as another one of the nearby city of Novigrad.

Bilbo lifted a stack of papers and dropped it onto another, then lifted a small box that had been hidden underneath. “Sorry about the mess.” He maneuvered his way back to Thorin, who was still standing at the doorway, and opened the box. “Do you recognize this at all?”

A large black feather lay within. “This is from a cockatrice.” Thorin picked it up, holding it up to the light shining through a small round window on the other side of the room. “Male, middle-aged, recently molted.”

Bilbo smiled. “Glad I could be of some help.”

The feather had saved him the time, indeed. Normally Thorin would have gone to the location of the attack and looked around himself. Thorin lifted his gaze, considering the halfling before him. The feather was a small gesture, but spoke volumes about him. 

“Oh, and as for your payment…” Bilbo closed the box and set it back down on the desk. “I was thinking two hundred coin. You’ll be saving everyone a great deal of trouble by killing this cockatrice.”

Two hundred was generous, even for a large contract, though it was only a fraction of what he’d need to pay for a ship to Skellige. “I’d best be off, then. Cockatrices tend to stay in their caves when they’re not off hunting. I know of one nearby, so I should have the job done by nightfall.”

“All right,” Bilbo said as they began walking towards the door. “Come back here when you’re finished and I’ll have the coin ready.”

Thorin stepped outside, the door closing behind him, and he set off. Luck was on his side, it seemed. Bilbo was generous with not only his payment but his hospitality as well—a rare thing in these parts.

Their interaction had been unusual, indeed, and he found himself thinking on it more instead of less as he walked. That there was still unconditional trust and goodwill in this world was a thought that rarely crossed his mind. Not that his own world was devoid of prejudice and hatred—far from it.

If nothing else, this strange encounter had served to remind him that there was still much in the Continent that was bound to surprise him.

* * *

 

The smell of blood drew him towards the entrance of the cave. It hung around the area like a fog, draping the underbrush and damp rocks with the slick scent of death. Thorin paused at the entrance, making sure his silver sword was free of its sheath. The sour odor of the cockatrice was thick in the air—this cave had likely been its lair for quite a while.

Thorin stepped inside the cave. The light grew dimmer as he walked, but he could still clearly see the mushrooms and small pools dotting the floor. The soft  _ tap tap _ of dripping water and his cautious footsteps were the only sounds that broke the silence.

His surroundings brightened as he entered a wider area with a high ceiling. Part of the structure had caved in, allowing a diagonal column of light to illuminate the area. Bones and other remains of downed livestock littered the floor. Curling feathers scattered from his footsteps as he moved to the center of the cavern.

This was obviously the cockatrice’s lair, but the beast was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it had gone to hunt again, but there was still a half-eaten carcass of a cow slumped against one wall. Thorin walked towards it and knelt down. Blood was pooling on the floor from bite marks that looked relatively fresh. 

The flutter of wings sounded from behind, and Thorin cursed. He barely had time to dodge as a massive shape leapt down at him from a hidden ledge, a large, red-stained beak snapping down on the space where he’d just been. Though he’d avoided the creature’s jaws, its wing still slammed into his stomach, sending him flying back to crash into a pile of dry bones.

The cockatrice let out a throaty cry. Tales spoke of an overgrown, winged beast with the head of a rooster, and it was an accurate enough description. But few knew how deadly these monsters could be. Its wings and tail had the power to break a man’s bones, and a well-placed strike from its beak could pierce flesh and kill in seconds.

Thorin stood with a wince and drew his silver blade, knowing his abdomen would be sore the next day.

The cockatrice charged again with surprising speed for its size, its wing swiping out in a horizontal stroke. Thorin stepped back, feeling a skull crunch under his boot, then forward, taking advantage of the opening the beast had created. His sword connected with the joint connecting the wing to its body, releasing a stream of blood in its wake.

The monster let out another cry, and Thorin took several steps to the side, so as to not let himself be cornered against the cave wall. As the cockatrice turned, he noted it was favoring its left wing. He’d meant to cut the appendage off entirely, but that would have taken more leverage that he’d had in such a tight space.

Despite its injury, the cockatrice wasted no time in lunging again, beak and wings working together in a frenzied attack. Thorin threw his energy into dodging, managing to get another slice in just below its throat. Cockatrices often aimed to tire their prey out before going for the kill. He would have to end this quickly.

The monster spun suddenly, its barbed tail whipping around to strike him in the face. Thorin grit his teeth, feeling a slash of pain across his cheekbone, followed by a stream of hot blood. It was a minor wound, but did quite a bit to piss him off.

One hand shot out and took hold of the soft flesh beneath the barb on the beast’s tail, and with a flash of his silver sword, the appendage was severed from its body. Thorin tossed it to the ground as the cockatrice shrieked.  _ I can play dirty too, you feathered bastard _ .

It spun towards him once more, and Thorin’s sword swung down in a high strike, but its uninjured wing lashed out, striking him in the chest.

Thorin staggered back, trying to regain both his balance and his breath, and was unable to avoid the cockatrice’s beak as it sunk into his shoulder. He cried out, white sparks showering over his vision.

And as he took in his next breath, Thorin wrestled his pain to the side and mustered enough energy to thrust his sword into the cockatrice’s body. Its left wing drooped to the ground, almost entirely severed from its body.

Hot blood ran down his shoulder, and Thorin grit his teeth, resisting the urge to check the wound. He thanked Mahal it hadn’t been his sword arm.

Thorin freed his blade and stepped around the cockatrice. He struck at its abdomen, spilling more monster’s blood onto the cavern floor. Keeping himself away from the remaining wing and its beak, Thorin slashed at its legs, its back, its stomach, pressing the beast until it finally staggered, weakened from blood loss and the silver of his blade.

With one final thrust, he pierced the beast’s heart. The cockatrice fell without resistance.

The next few minutes were filled with his heavy breathing and the slow drip of blood from his fingertips to the cave floor.

Thorin walked over to the light, where he could clearly see the wound. His armor had protected him from any broken bones, but the puncture was still deep. He reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a blue potion streaked with silver. He downed the liquid and wrapped his shoulder with a clean bandage.

With his wounds tended to, Thorin sat on a low boulder and set to the task of cleaning his sword. As he ran a clean cloth along the length of his blade, his breathing evened out and the rush of battle faded from his ears. Fighting with a sword and shield against an army of orcs was one thing. But Thorin didn’t think he’d ever get used to battling monsters twice his size. 

But it would not be for nothing. He would fight a score of cockatrices if it meant his people would be safe. It was the thought of them, his kin, that had driven him on through the hardships he had faced in this world. Soon, he would see them again, and they would all be able to return home.

* * *

 

By the time he reached Bag End, Thorin was soaked. Rain had begun to fall about halfway through his journey back, and it ran in streams through his hair, mingled with the blood in the bandage around his shoulder, and dripped onto the feathers of the cockatrice’s head secured in one fist.

The latter combination had created an interesting smell, Thorin reflected with a grimace, though fortunately not interesting enough to attract the attention of any other monsters.

Warm golden light was shining through the round windows as he approached the house. He stood on the front stoop, dripping water onto the clean stone, and knocked.

When Bilbo opened the door, heat drifted out into the rainy night, mixed with the faint, earthy scent of tea. “Oh,” he said, face brightening. “Back by nightfall, just as you said.”

Thorin held up the cockatrice’s head, its bloodstained jaw falling open with the movement. “Proof that the monster is dead.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Well, I was prepared to take your word for it, but, uh, you…you brought the head.”

“Some people ask for evidence. Better to have it than not.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” His gaze drifted to Thorin’s shoulder, and he frowned. “Were you injured?”

“I took care of it.”

Bilbo’s eyes flickered from his shoulder to the blood on the cockatrice’s beak, and his frown deepened. “Are you sure? I could call a healer—“

“I took care of it,” he repeated. “Witchers don’t need healers.”

“Right.” Evidently Bilbo saw no use in arguing, as he once again gestured for Thorin to come inside. “I’ll get the coin I owe you. A-And leave the head outside, please.”

Thorin complied, setting it down next to the door and stepping inside. He followed Bilbo to the dining room, where a still-steaming pot of tea sat on the table next to a sack of coin.

“Would you like something to drink? Tea, or something a bit stronger?” Bilbo scooped up the sack and handed it to him.

“Do you have any ale?” It would take the edge off for his shoulder, and help with the chill from the rain.

“In the cellar. I’ll be right back.” Bilbo hurried off to another room, leaving him alone in the dining room. 

Thorin secured the coins on his belt and crossed his arms. He couldn’t help but think he was missing something. Halflings especially were not known for welcoming outsiders. There were exceptions, of course, but it was asking for a great stretch of the imagination to picture a halfling welcoming a dwarf-witcher into his home.

So when Bilbo returned with a full mug of ale and gave it to him with a smile, Thorin decided to ask him a few questions, if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity.

“These attacks have been happening for a while,” he said, taking a seat across from Bilbo at the table. “But your notice is only a few days old. Why wait so long to ask for help?”

“Folks around here—well.” Bilbo poured himself a cup of tea and sat with it between his palms, rotating it slowly and making the murky brown liquid swirl inside. “They’re hardly warriors…or witchers. They let fear take over and did nothing. I was tired of living that way, so I decided to do something about it.”

“None of the others considered hiring a witcher?”

Bilbo’s mouth scrunched to the side as he considered his words. He looked downwards, his lashes casting the tiniest of shadows beneath his eyes. “Let’s just say they were equally afraid of the monster and, um, witchers.”

“And you weren’t?”

He finally met Thorin’s eyes. “I did what I had to.” A small smile lifted his lips. “And it seems that I made the right choice.”

Thorin paused mid-sip and set his mug on the table. He swallowed with some difficulty, mulling over the unexpected response. “A witcher’s job is to kill monsters. Nothing more. Though I’m sure you’ve heard differently.”

“I have. And you’re quite different from the stories people tell.” Bilbo sat back in his chair. “I mean, for one, you’re a dwarf. I’ve never heard of a dwarf witcher before.”

“Neither have I,” Thorin said. “Mine is a…unique case.”

They turned their heads in unison as a spear of lightning split the sky through the window, followed by a rumble of thunder.

“Getting bad out there,” Bilbo said. “You could stay here tonight.”

“No,” Thorin said immediately. He was wary of the halfling’s hospitality morphing into charity—he had just paid him two hundred coin for a contract, after all. “I should get going.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Lovely weather for camping under the stars, hm? I insist. You did get badly injured during a job I asked you to do, anyway.”

“You paid me.” He hesitated for a second, then asked, “You’d let a witcher sleep under the same roof as you?”

“You’ve done nothing so far to have me believe you’d do me harm,” Bilbo said. “I-I was reading that correctly, wasn’t I?”

Thorin took in a breath to answer, but he was unsure how exactly to respond. Agreeing with such a claim would be a lie. But denying it would mean…

It would mean having a roof over his head during a rainy night. It would mean spending a little more time with the first person in a while who didn’t treat him like a threat.

“I meant what I said earlier.”

“Well, then.” Bilbo smiled. “You can take one of the guest rooms.”

* * *

 

The rain had stopped sometime during the night, and Thorin woke with the first rays of the morning sun shining through the bedroom window. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his elbows against his knees, eyes running over the slants of golden light spilling across the floorboards.

Not for the first time, he revisited the events of the previous day—the contract, the cockatrice, the conversation he’d had with one of the strangest people he’d met in this world.

Bilbo Baggins was a mystery, and his short rest had done nothing to help him unravel it. That someone would treat a witcher with such trust and ease was unheard of. The fact that he was a halfling only made it more perpelxing, and there was something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Thorin ran a hand over his face and stood up to strap his swords to his back. This world had made him jaded indeed, if he looked upon simple kindness with such confusion.

The house was quiet as he descended the stairs. He kept to the side near the wall to avoid making much noise. Dwarves were hardly known for being stealthy, but his training as a witcher had taught him a few tricks.

Bilbo was already awake, curled up in an armchair in the next room with a book propped open in his lap. Thorin paused for a moment, taking in his small, round figure, the way his fingers absently tapped against the edge of the page, the lock of curly hair that rested against the skin just below his ear.

As soon as he caught himself looking, Thorin was struck by the strange feeling that he was looking in on someone else’s life, that even the act of looking belonged to a person that was not him.

Deliberately, he pressed his feet against the center of the stairs as he stepped down, making enough noise to alert Bilbo of his presence.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He set the book down and stood up. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I should be on the road.” Thorin reached down to retrieve his pack from where he’d left it at the foot of the stairs the previous night. “I am grateful for your hospitality.”

“You’re quite welcome. And thank you for killing that monster.”

“You paid me for that.” He settled the straps of his pack on his shoulders, but made no move yet to make for the door.

Bilbo shrugged and leaned against the back of the armchair. “What’s got you in such a hurry, anyways? Another contract?”

“I’m heading to the city.” Thorin paused, considering his next words, but he saw no harm in saying, “Tracking down a thief.”

“Ah.” Bilbo tilted his head slightly. “Well, I hope you find whatever was stolen from you.”

“As do I.” Thorin turned and headed for the door. Now that he had his lead and the funds to follow it, he couldn’t afford to tarry any longer—nor could he afford to get distracted. All that mattered now was getting home.

He was nearly at the exit when Bilbo spoke again, his voice careful and measured as he said, “Phineas Ward.”

And Thorin went still, alarm ringing through his head. With one hand ready to fly to his sword, he turned back towards Bilbo. He was standing at the other end of the hall, his expression one of guarded curiosity.

“That’s who you’re looking for, isn’t it? Do you know where he is?”

Thorin cursed himself for letting his guard down. He specialized in the kind of monster mentioned in the contract. That, and the promise of payment, had led him like a dog after a bone to this very place. The stinging reality of it was all too clear to him now, but Thorin found himself asking anyway:

“Why?” His voice came out as little more than a growl.

“He took something from me, too.” Bilbo’s face was solemn as he said this, and just as achingly genuine as his other expressions. “So I do hope you find him.”

A small measure of panic eased from his shoulders. Thorin could read no lie in his words, but that didn’t make him any less confused. There was only one thing of which he could be certain. “I will.”

Perhaps a false alarm, perhaps not—he would not let either keep him from his goal.

Without another word, he pushed open the door and stepped out into the sunlight.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is going to be a little different from classic Shire Bilbo since he's from a different world in this fic. But I hope you'll all grow to like him anyways.  
> There's also going to be lots of fight scenes in this fic, so let me know how I'm doing with those. I hope they're not too tedious!


	3. Chapter 3

#  **Chapter 3**

 

The thin haze of smoke drifting over the city of Novigrad carried with it the disturbing scent of burning flesh. The smell was strongest near Hierarch Square, and Thorin gave the area a wide berth as he navigated the narrow, crowded streets.

He guessed they’d taken to publicly burning mages again. Thorin hated the violence and prejudice that existed within the walls of Novigrad, and as a rule tried to avoid entering altogether. When necessity called for a visit, as it did now, he did his best to keep his head down. Being a witcher and a dwarf hardly afforded him good standing with the more bigoted residents. More than once had he been forced to draw his blade in defense of his life.

It seemed as though another one of those instances was drawing near. Three men had been following him for a few blocks now, though he had no doubt they thought they were being subtle about it.

He knew from experience that they wouldn’t lose interest soon. That left him with two options: wait for them to attack and risk getting the town guard involved, who would hardly be inclined to act in his favor, or finish things quietly.

Thorin took a turn into a shabbier part of town, walking past abandoned houses with broken shutters and stoops littered with bits of paper and rubbish. He headed for a more open courtyard at the end of the alley, ignoring the man who spat at his feet as he passed.

The courtyard was clear, and the windows of the surrounding buildings were dim and empty. The alley was the only exit, but Thorin planned on leaving the place uninhibited anyway. He turned and faced his pursuers, studying them as they approached. The man who had spat at him stood up and left as they passed.

One of the thugs carried a club, and the other two small battle axes. Their various scars and bruises indicated that they were experienced in combat, but that was hardly a justification to pick a fight with a witcher. Thorin drew his steel sword and rolled his left shoulder. His injury was mostly healed, and hopefully wouldn’t protest too much as he fought.

The three men spread out as they entered the courtyard, blocking the exit. “You shouldn’t have come here, witcher,” the one holding the club said. “Nonhumans aren’t welcome in Novigrad.”

Thorin said nothing, simply taking a ready stance. There was no use in speaking to men who had no doubt planned to kill him as soon as they saw him.

The group seemed to take the hint, and attacked at once. Thorin stepped forward and met the club with his sword, reversing the blow and pushing the man back. He stopped the swing of an axe with his free hand and dodged the other.

With the man in front of him off balance, Thorin slashed to the side, cutting deep into the leg of the man to the right. He fell with a cry, and Thorin brought his sword up again to catch the blade of the other axe as it swung towards his head. He grunted as the club smashed into his arm, hard enough to loosen his grip on his sword. His leg shot out in a low kick to the man’s shin, forcing him off balance once more. Thorin stepped back as the axe slashed towards his chest and readjusted his hold on his blade.

The downed man slashed at him, but he fell again as Thorin’s blade entered his heart.

“Bastard!” The man with the club charged again, but Thorin ducked under his blow and cut his chest with a high slash.

That left just one man standing. With his companions downed, he kept his distance, searching for an opening as he circled around the courtyard. Thorin stood with his sword pointed at the ground, watching him.

The man rushed forward and his axe came down in a diagonal slash that Thorin parried with enough force to knock the weapon from his hand altogether. The man grunted and choked as the steel blade entered his stomach. Thorin pulled it out a second later, and had already left the courtyard by the time the body hit the ground.

He only spared a moment to wipe down his blade before sheathing it. He needed to get out of this damned city as soon as possible.

As he left the alley, he spotted a couple guards approaching from his right. Thorin kept his eyes ahead and turned to the left. He could feel their gazes focus on him as he walked. No doubt the two swords on his back had caught their eye. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder just in time to see the pair turn into the alley.

It seemed luck was not on his side today. Thorin bit back a curse and sped up his pace. The guards would find three bodies at the end of the alley, and that would be reason enough to pursue and arrest him.

He took a detour towards the market, hoping the crowded area would afford him some cover. It would take about three minutes for the guards to make their discovery and decide to give chase, so he had about that long to make himself scarce.

The smell of baked goods and fresh fruit filled the air as Thorin stepped between two stalls, passing a group of priests who were speaking to one of the merchants. With his armor and weapons, he could hardly blend in with the locals, but the crowds would slow down any pursuit.

Thorin glanced behind himself again, scanning for the red and white striped shirts of Novigrad guards. A flash of scarlet caught his eye, but it was only a woman’s headscarf. He turned back around as something collided with his chest.

“Oh,” came a familiar voice, and Thorin looked down. “Fancy bumping into you here.”

His eyes widened. None other than Bilbo Baggins was looking up at him, a half-eaten apple perched between two fingers.

“What are you doing here?” He scanned the marketplace again and spotted the two guards coming down towards him. Upon seeing they no longer had the element of surprise, they sped their approach, one of them pushing aside a stack of crates in his haste.

He cursed under his breath, then turned back to Bilbo. He needed to lose the guards, but he wasn’t about to miss a much-needed explanation from the halfling.

“Come with me,” he said, taking hold of his wrist and pulling him past a stall selling colorful fabric. They maneuvered their way through the market, moving quickly as sounds of pursuit escalated behind them. For his part, Bilbo was able to keep up, but Thorin didn’t loosen his grip.

Once they were free of the market, Thorin broke out into a run, pulling Bilbo along with him. They were on a road next to a canal, and that was much too exposed for him, so at the next opportunity, he ducked into an alley. Just ahead was a doorway, hopefully deep enough to conceal them both. Thorin stepped up and pressed himself against the faded wood, motioning for Bilbo to do the same.

“Quite a grip you’ve got,” the halfling said.

“Quiet,” Thorin replied, but released his arm.

They waited in breathless silence for a couple minutes. Thorin strained his ears for footsteps, but heard nothing. With one hand on his sword, he leaned forward and scanned the alleyway. He let out a breath—it was empty. 

“Are they gone?” Bilbo asked, and when Thorin nodded, he stepped down from the doorway and took another bite of his apple.

Now that the danger had passed, he turned his attention to the halfling. “What are you doing here?”

“Mm.” He held up a finger as he finished chewing. “I was looking for you.” 

“Why?”

“Well, I thought about what you said. You want to get something of yours back, and so do I. So I think we should work together.”

Thorin tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Are you saying…”

“I want to help you find Phineas Ward.”

He shook his head, beginning to question his assumption that the halfling was sane. “You’d just slow me down.”

His brows scrunched together. “And how do you figure that, exactly?”

“There’s a reason witchers work alone.” Thorin turned and began walking. He needed to keep moving, lest the guards pass by this area again.

“I thought that reason was that no one  _ wanted _ to work with them,” Bilbo said, falling into stride next to him.

That was hardly the point, but Thorin let it pass in favor of asking a much more urgent question. “And how do I know you’re not working for him?”

“Working for…You think I’m working for Phineas Ward?”

“Say that name a little louder, why don’t you?” Thorin said as they entered a crowded street.

“I know there’s nothing I could say that could truly convince you, but I’m not working for him.” Bilbo put a hand on his arm, making him stop and lock eyes with him. “I trusted you because you hadn’t given me a reason not to. Do you think you can do the same for me?”

Thorin searched his eyes—dark blue and earnest—for the barest sliver of deception or malice. How had this halfling become such a blind spot for him?

Bilbo was right in that he had given Thorin no solid reason to distrust him. Even so, he had every reason to reject his offer of a partnership. But something stayed his hand.

“If you can keep up,” he said, and started off towards the docks.

* * *

 

The docks of Novigrad allowed Thorin a breath of fresh air. As he exited the narrow streets and entered the open space bordered on one side by the sea, the salty breeze pushed back the haze of smoke. He kept his guard up, though, as he and Bilbo walked towards the larger boats that were docked at one end. He was so close to getting out of the city, and he would not allow anything to catch him off guard.

“We’re taking a ship?” Bilbo asked, tossing the rest of his apple to a stray dog. “I was under the impression that Phi—that we were looking in the city.”

Thorin deflected the question with one of his own. “How do you know of him?”

“Well, my house was robbed one night. Something quite valuable was taken from me. I went asking around to try and find who had done it, and that name came up.”

“What did he take?”

Bilbo gave a light shrug. “A family heirloom. What about you?”

“The same.”

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What makes a person decide to steal?” He sent a sideways glance towards Thorin. “Especially from a witcher.”

“Foolishness, it seems.” He scanned the street once more, still looking out for more guards.

They reached the area where the larger vessels were docked. Thorin ruled out one of the ships immediately—the red and gold banner indicated it was going north to Kovir. The other two were possibly headed for Skellige, though.

They approached the nearest of them, the wood of the docks creaking lightly as they walked. A couple of men were on the deck of the ship, moving some barrels to a lower level. They paused in their task as Thorin and Bilbo approached. One of them did a double take at the former’s two swords, and whispered something to his companion.

“Where is this ship headed?” Thorin asked once he was close enough to be heard.

One of the men ignored him, disappearing below deck with two small barrels balanced on either shoulder. The other glanced down after his companion, likely considering following him, then muttered, “What’s it to you?”

Bilbo made a small, displeased noise in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

“We seek passage to Skellige,” Thorin said.

“Well, this one’s sailing up to Blaviken,” the man said, still avoiding eye contact. “So you’d best try your luck elsewhere.”

“And the other ship down there?” Thorin gestured with his chin to the last boat on the dock. “Where are they headed?”

“How should I know?” The man spat on the deck, scuffed it with the toe of his worn boot, then disappeared below deck.

“Not very helpful, those two,” Bilbo said as they walked back along the docks towards the third boat.

Thorin said nothing.

“Do people always treat you like that?”

The question caught him off guard for a moment, and Thorin had to remind himself that he and Bilbo lived in very different realities. Halflings in this world were grouped in with dwarves and elves by those who despised nonhumans. But unlike the latter two, they were content for the most part to live simple and unobtrusive lifestyles, and were often treated with a reserved respect for that. With his wealth, Bilbo had most likely lived a comfortable and peaceful life. Such interactions as the one they’d just had were probably unfamiliar. 

“They’re not always so polite.”

When they reached the last boat, Thorin immediately sensed that something was wrong. A group of five men were standing in a tight circle on the deck, arguing amongst each other in low voices. Before he could get close enough to make out what they were saying, the men caught sight of them and fell silent.

He decided to get straight to the point this time. “Is this boat headed to Skellige?” he asked the group, stepping to the edge of the dock.

The men eyed him warily. “Aye,” one of them replied.

“Well, it was supposed to,” another added. A third hissed for him to be quiet.

“What does that mean?” Thorin frowned. “Where is your captain?”

“Bloody good question, that.” The second man to speak scowled and crossed his arms.

“You a witcher?” the first asked, eyeing the hilts of Thorin’s swords.

“Yes,” he replied.

“And you seek passage to Skellige?”

“I do.”

At this, the men formed a circle again and began muttering to each other. After a couple minutes, they broke apart and the first one to speak stepped forward. “Well, see, our captain’s in a spot of trouble. Dumb bastard couldn’t pay his debt to some of Whoreson Junior’s boys, and they took him sometime last night.” 

“And we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” another added.

Thorin crossed his arms. “So you want me to retrieve your captain.” He’d been asked more than once during his time as a witcher to solve problems that had nothing to do with monsters. Witchers were trained to kill and lacked a fear of death, and therefore some people confused them with mercenaries. Generally he had no interest in such tasks, but this one appeared necessary if he was to get to Skellige.

“Any idea where he’s being held?”

The man shrugged. “I know they have a hideout somewhere in The Bits.”

“And if I rescue him, will you grant me passage on your ship?”

A couple of the men fidgeted at this. “That’s up to the captain,” another spoke up. “You’ll have to take it up with him.”

Thorin frowned. That was no guarantee, but there was no chance of him sailing at all if the captain stayed captured.

Hopefully his gratitude for being rescued would overshadow his prejudice.

“If your captain is still alive, I’ll bring him back,” Thorin said.

“So we’re going to The Bits to get this captain back?” Bilbo asked as they walked away from the ship, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“No,” Thorin said. “ _ I’m _ going to The Bits. I need you to stay out of my way.”

“Sorry, what?” Bilbo stopped in his tracks, causing Thorin to pause and turn towards him. “I thought we agreed to start trusting each other.”

“I agreed to nothing of the sort.” He stepped closer, crossing his arms again. “We’ve known each other for less than two days, and even if that period had been longer, there still remains the fact that you have no way to defend yourself. If you come with me, there’s the chance you’ll get yourself or both of us killed.”

“Well,” Bilbo said after a moment, “I do have these.” He pulled aside his coat, revealing a set of knives attached to his belt.

“And how far do you expect to get with a couple of knives?”

Bilbo cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and Thorin shook his head, turning away.

“You’d be useless in a fight.”

“Compared to a witcher I might be.” He motioned for him to start walking again, and they continued on down the dock. “But I didn’t come armed with just that. This captain is in a spot of trouble because he couldn’t pay his debt, right? We might be able to negotiate his freedom without having to fight at all.”

“You mean to pay his ransom.”

Bilbo lifted his chin and looked him in the eye. “Well, then you wouldn’t be risking your life, would you?”

The halfling was tenacious—Thorin would give him that. And he had no wish to enter a fight if he didn’t have to. But there was no guarantee of peace when dealing with a group of thugs.

“Let us find their hideout first. We’ll talk more once I’ve looked over the area.”

Bilbo must have counted that as a victory, as he flashed a satisfied smile that did not annoy Thorin quite as much as it should have and said, “All right, then. Shall we get going?”

* * *

The Bits was little more than a crowded neighborhood filled with rundown apartments. The sailors hadn’t given him much to go on in terms of finding the hideout, but after a couple blocks an alley in particular caught his eye. Two men stood guard on either side of a stairway leading underground.

After scouting the rest of the district and deciding the guarded stairs were their best bet, they paused in a nearby alley to plan their next move.

“There’s no way to know how many men are in there,” Thorin said. “If the place is underground, we don’t even know how large it is. I think it would be best to bargain with them first. But…” He held up a hand before Bilbo could speak. “We still don’t know for certain if the captain is in there, or if they’ll be agreeable to trading him for gold. I’m going in there _ alone _ to find out if bargaining is worth it. If they agree, I’ll come back here and get you.”

Bilbo’s brow arched. “And how long should I wait before I go in after you?”

Thorin let out an exasperated sigh. “I trust you won’t be so foolish.” He turned and left the alleyway.

The two guards at the door watched him as he approached, but made no move to stop him.

He stood in front of the two hulking men and looking them over. The one on the right had his sword improperly buckled to his belt, a glaring sign of inexperience. Clearly he’d been chosen solely for his size. If they chose to attack, he would cut him down while he fumbled for his weapon. The one on the left, though he was sturdy as an ox, favored his right leg. Another weakness that, especially for one of Thorin’s height, could easily be exploited.

The men below must have been extraordinarily cocky to leave such vulnerable members guarding their front door. That, or, Thorin mused uneasily, they had large enough numbers within that external defenses were of little concern.

“I need to speak with whoever’s in charge here.”

“What for?” the one on the right grunted, his poorly-trimmed mustache fluttering as he spoke.

“I’ve received word that the captain of one of the ships at port is being held by some of Whoreson Junior’s men. I’ve come to bargain for his return.”

“You’re here for Captain Carter?” A slow grin spread across the other guard’s face, like that of a wolf’s snarl. “We shan’t keep you waiting, then.” Both men stepped aside, granting him passage to whatever lay below.

Thorin’s nerves were on high alert, now. Some danger or trap lay in wait behind that door—that much was clear from the bloodthirsty satisfaction pouring from the guard in waves.

But turning back was not an option. Steeling himself for whatever would come next, Thorin stepped past the two guards and set off down the stairs.

At the bottom was a narrow, dimly-lit hallway. A couple of men loitered against the wall, and they watched him with glinting eyes as he passed. At the end of the hall was another room where men sat and played cards or drank. They all looked up as he entered, and the room fell silent.

A bald man in a red shirt turned to straddle his chair, leaning his forearms on the back. “Pour us another one, Percy. We’ve got a witcher in our midst.”

“I’ve come to bargain for Captain Carter.” Thorin scanned the room. There were seven men inside, with two halls besides the one he’d come from leading out of the area. Most of the men were armed, but quite a few were also intoxicated.

“And what would a witcher be wanting with a spineless, seafaring deadbeat?” the bald man asked, not moving from his languid position on the chair.

“I’m sure you’d be more interested in the gold I’ll pay for his return,” Thorin said, hoping Bilbo had the funds for however much they wanted.

The man scoffed. “Well, it seems like you’re jumping to conclusions, here. Whoreson Junior’s men aren’t all about money. Are we, lads?”

A chorus of no’s rose from the men, the volume further proof that several of them were drunk.

“No.” The man in the red shirt fixed Thorin with a cold stare that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “We’ve got other values. We don’t at all appreciate dishonest deadbeats. And we  _ certainly _ don’t appreciate murderers.”

There was a scraping noise at the other end of the room, and Thorin turned to see another man push back his chair and stand up. A white bandage was visible under the collar of his shirt. It was one of the men Thorin had fought earlier that day. Apparently the cut to his chest hadn’t been as deep as he thought.

“Captain Carter will go free in a couple days,” the bald man continued. “We understand that sometimes funds just aren’t available. But taking a life, especially the life of one of our boys…” 

Everyone in the room was standing now, weapons drawn. 

“Well, that’s just something we can’t forgive.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

#  **Chapter 4**

 

Thorin’s steel sword was out in a flash, and he braced himself as the men closed in on him. He parried the first two strikes at the same time and used the momentum to step out of the way of a third.

From there, the rhythm of battle thrummed along with his heartbeat, clashes of steel and the hiss of shed blood harmonizing with his footsteps as he cut the men down one by one.

The man in red appeared in the fray, slashing at Thorin’s chest. He dodged the blow and kicked hard at his leg, sending him to the floor. The crash of splintering wood sounded from behind, followed by a splitting pain on the back of his head. The force of the blow sent him crashing onto his hands and knees. He winced as the remnants of what must have been a chair before someone had smashed it over his skull fell to the floor. Staggered, he couldn’t avoid the blow to his jaw from another man’s foot.

Thorin braced the hand holding his sword against the ground, shaking stars from his vision. More blows connected with his body, and the man in red attempted another slash at his arm, though this one glanced off his vambrace.

He grit his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword. With his free hand, he grabbed the arm of the next fist aimed at his head, pulling the man down onto his blade. Pushing himself up from the blood-slicked floor, he pulled the sword out and, in the same motion, parried the dagger aimed at his shoulder.

Within the next minute, Thorin was the last one standing in the room. The rest were scattered about the floor, lying in their own blood—the two guards from before among them. The man in red, he noted, must have fled sometime during the fight, as his body was nowhere to be seen _. _

He was going to alert the others of his presence, meaning Thorin had little time left. There were two possible passages for him to take, and he did not know which one would lead him to Carter. No one in the room was able to give him that information, so he would have to improvise.

Hoping his enhanced instincts would not fail him, Thorin chose the right passage and proceeded cautiously, listening for any approaching footsteps. He’d walked away from one fight relatively unscathed, but he had no wish to take on the entire hideout.

His confrontation in the previous room had hardly been quiet, though, and sure enough, a chorus of hurried footsteps sounded from farther down the darkened hallway. Thorin cursed under his breath and ducked into the nearest room, pressing himself against the wall. Snatches of conversation filtered through as a small group passed:

“—was that?”

“Check the storage rooms—“

“—Cleaver’s boys, for sure.”

He waited until they were gone, then stepped out and continued, nerves buzzing with anxiety. Getting into this trap had been fairly easy, but getting out was an entirely different matter. His thoughts strayed to Bilbo’s earlier comment about going in after him, and he hoped the halfling had enough sense to keep himself safe.

The clatter of metal from an intersecting hall caught his attention. He peered down in that direction, but the corridor was empty—save for a slight movement on one of the walls. Someone was rattling a locked door.

Luck may have found him this time.

The door shook again, and whoever was behind it began pounding his fist on the wood. “Hello? Is anyone there? What’s going on out there?”

Thorin walked up to the door, senses alert for anyone approaching them. “Captain Carter?”

“What is it? I heard someone say we’re under attack.”

He sighed. The man was speaking far too loudly for his comfort. “Lower your voice, and step back from the door.”

A slight shuffle on the other side indicated the man had complied. Thorin lifted the lock and studied it. It was well-made, and the door was thick. Even with his strength, there was no way he could force it open.

Focusing his attention on the lock, he cast  _ Aard _ with one hand. A small shockwave hit the metal and it broke with a sharp  _ crack _ . Thorin opened the door, revealing a wide-eyed man standing against the back wall. From the bruises on his face and the dirt on his once-fine clothes, he guessed the captain had not been treated well.

“Come.” Thorin beckoned for the man to leave his cell. “We don’t have much time.”

Carter stayed frozen, one hand absently clutching the buttons on his coat. “A witcher?”

“Your crew asked me to free you.” He cast an anxious glance down the hallway. Escaping would be more difficult with the captain slowing him down, and he preferred to move as soon as possible. “We have to hurry. Follow me.”

Without waiting for the man to move, Thorin turned and started down the hall. He was nearly at the corner when a lone set of hurried footsteps made him slow. A glance behind confirmed that Carter had left the cell, albeit hesitantly. There was no time to hide, and he could not risk discovery now.

Hoping the approaching man was the only one in the hallway, Thorin downed him with a swift kick to his legs and silenced his cry with his blade in one swift movement. He stepped forward and checked the hallway.

“This way,” he said to Carter, and began making his way back to the entrance.

By some measure of luck, they encountered no one on the way back to the entrance. Thorin assumed they had gone to check whatever store of valuables were hidden in the building.

They had already found the room full of men he had killed, however—there were fresh footprints in the blood staining the floor. As they entered the room, Carter’s footsteps faltered and a strangled noise sounded at the back of his throat.

“Y-You did this?”

“Yes,” Thorin replied without looking back.

The hallway leading to the exit was empty as well, and there was no sound of anyone approaching from either direction. Thorin was just reaching for the door when it swung open, making him step back. His sword was up in an instant, and he only just halted its progress when he realized the neck he was aiming for was Bilbo’s.

The halfling jumped back with a yelp, eyes wide, then relaxed a fraction when he realized it was Thorin. “You gave me quite a fright, there.” His gaze lifted to the man standing behind him. “And you found the captain.”

Thorin lowered his sword. “Things didn’t go according to plan. We need to get out of here.”

“I can see that.” Bilbo’s eyes flickered down to the blood staining his armor. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

“People are staring at you.”

“I know.” There were bright red stains on his armor. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

Bilbo gave him a curious glance out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. The word  _ we  _ had just slipped from his lips, and he wasn’t sure whether or not to correct himself. They hadn’t yet discussed the issue of trust between them, or even if they would be working together. 

That was an issue for another time. Thorin threw a glance back at Carter, who was trailing them at a lengthy distance. They were nearly at the docks, and thankfully they had yet to run into another guard or one of Whoreson Junior’s boys.

“You ran into trouble, back there?” Bilbo asked.

“The men knew who I was as soon as I walked in. I’d...run into one of them earlier. So they weren’t pleased to see me.”

Bilbo glanced at the blood on his armor again, then changed the subject. “So you-know-who is in Skellige?”

“I have reason to believe so, yes,” Thorin replied. They stepped out onto the docks. The setting sun hung just above the horizon, casting a streak of bright gold across the water.

“Any idea why he’d be hiding out there?”

“The isles are numerous, and not very populated. It’s a rather convenient place for a thief to stash his stolen goods.”

Captain Carter’s ship had come into sight, and they reached it without further incident. The sailors were still crowded on the deck, and they watched Thorin’s approach with wary eyes.

“Well? Did you find him?” one of them asked, his gaze fixed on the bloodstains on his armor.

In lieu of an answer, Thorin turned towards the end of the docks, where Carter was making his way towards the ship. The men followed his gaze, and a chorus of relieved sighs sounded from the group.

“Thank you, witcher,” one said, and Thorin nodded, watching Carter as he made his way onto his ship. This was hardly a proud homecoming for the man—coming back covered in stains and bruises after being rescued by a witcher, of all people.

The captain’s voice shot out in a hiss across the deck. “Which one of you hired a witcher?”

Thorin’s expression darkened, and next to him, Bilbo shifted uneasily.

“Well, it was more of a group decision, really,” said the sailor who had thanked him. “Seein’ as we need to leave tomorrow.”

“They would have let me go,” Carter said. “We could have afforded a few days’ delay. But you had to go and hire one of  _ them _ , and we’ll be lucky if Whoreson Junior’s boys aren’t swarming the docks by nightfall. What were you thinking, hiring a killer?”

“Those men attacked me, and I acted in self defense,” Thorin said, stepping forward. “I aided your men in hopes of gaining passage on this ship.”

Carter’s face twisted at this. “Your hopes were in vain. My men acted foolishly and recklessly. I’ll not have a witcher on my ship.”

“Now, just wait a second—“ Bilbo stepped forward, but Thorin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, before I call the guard.”

Without another word, Thorin turned and escorted a stammering Bilbo off the ship.

Halfway down the docks, the halfling was still fuming. “Absolutely ridiculous. You saved his life. How could say—“

“They were going to let him go,” Thorin said. “One of the men told me. But it wouldn’t have made a difference.” 

Bilbo shook his head. “There has to be another way.”

“There’s no point in reasoning with him. I’ll have to wait for another ship.” Thorin crossed his arms, looking out over the water. Mahal knew how long that would take. He turned back to Bilbo. “You should go home. There’s no reason for you to wait here.”

“Half a moment.” He set his hands on his hips and frowned up at Thorin. “Just because you’ve given up doesn’t mean I’m about to.”

“I am not giving up,” he said with a glare. “But there’s no way onto that ship. We need to find another way to Skellige.”

“Now,  _ that  _ I agree with.” Bilbo turned on his heel and began walking. “Come on, I want to find a good spot to watch the sunset.”

Thorin hesitated, thrown off by the sudden change in subject. Perhaps the halfling had another idea in mind.

There was only one way to find out, so he followed Bilbo down the street.

* * *

 

“It looks rather different on the water, doesn’t it? You can see all the colors and the way the light reflects off the water.” Bilbo rested his chin on his palm. “There’s far too many trees where I live to get a proper view.”

They’d found a secluded area near the docks that had a clear view of the west. The only sound filling the air was the gentle lapping of water on the rocks below—as the day ended, most of the citizens of Novigrad were on their way home or to the nearest tavern.

“Have you been to the city before?” Thorin asked. With a scrap of cloth and some water from a nearby fountain, he was busy cleaning the blood from his armor.

“Not in a while, actually. It’s been a few years since I’ve traveled this far.”

“Why did you decide to leave now?”

“I already told you—I’d like to get back what was stolen from me.” He turned and noticed Thorin was still scrutinizing him. “But that answer doesn’t satisfy you.”

“You could have left immediately after you were robbed. You could have asked me to retrieve the object for you. Instead you’ve left your home and you’re prepared to take a ship across the sea with a witcher.”

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “Well. All good points.” His gaze dropped to the water and became pensive. “I suppose all the monster attacks back home made me realize that, well, there was something I could do about it. Perhaps it is foolish, but I think I could make a difference outside my home as well.”

It wasn’t a foolish thought, but there was no denying Bilbo was ill-prepared for the world outside his peaceful home.

Bilbo caught on to his doubt and cocked his head. “What?”

“You’d trade your safety for a chance at adventure?”

“That’s a drastic way to phrase it.” He tilted his head. “You still think I’d just slow you down?”

The sun drew low over the water, lengthening the shadows stretched across the city. ”You’ve given me no reason to think otherwise.”

“Then let me prove you wrong.” Bilbo straightened up and began walking back towards the docks. “I’m getting us on that ship to Skellige tonight.”

* * *

 

If anything, the halfling was going to get them arrested. Thorin scanned the port with a scowl. Guards were posted at intervals across the docks, on the lookout for thieves or vandals. 

Bilbo was speaking with one of them, though he was too far away for Thorin to hear the exchange. Once they had reached the docks, the halfling had instructed for him to stay out of sight until he gave the signal to move in.

The halfling pointed back towards the city, and the guard tensed up, one hand going to his weapon. Thorin straightened and took a half-step towards the pair. If the guard tried something, he would not be able to reach them in time.

He relaxed a moment later as the man nodded, then turned and set off down one of the side alleys. Bilbo turned towards Thorin and gave a short nod.

Warily, he moved across the docks towards the halfling. “What happened? Did you bribe him?” he asked as he drew close.

“No, of course not. Bribes only go so far.” Bilbo bent down and picked up a sack. “I told him about some strange lights I’d seen over by the Bits, and that I thought it might have been someone casting magic. Hold this.” He handed the sack to Thorin.

Suspected witchcraft was effective bait for any of the guards. He weighed the sack in his arms. Most likely it contained some sort of spice. “What is this for?”

“We’re taking some last-minute supplies to the ship,” Bilbo said. “Or, at least, that’s what it will look like to him.” He gestured with his chin towards another one of the guards standing farther down the docks.

Thorin lifted his gaze to the boat, its sails pale against the moonlight, and furrowed his brow. “You mean to sneak onto the ship.”

“Well, yes,” Bilbo said. “That’ll get us to Skellige, won’t it?”

His pride protested at the notion of creeping onto a ship and hiding aboard like a common stowaway. Durin’s Folk did not  _ hide _ . But they were on a time limit now, and it could be weeks before another vessel headed to Skellige arrived at these docks.

“Fine,” Thorin said, hefting one of the sacks onto his shoulder. “Let’s make this quick.”

Smiling, Bilbo picked up his own package and they walked together towards the ship. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw one of the guards glance at them, but thankfully made no move to investigate. They were more likely on the lookout for people stealing  _ from  _ the ships instead of bringing goods on board.

The floorboards creaked quietly as they crossed the deck and made for the door leading to the lower levels. Thorin tried the handle and cursed under his breath, finding it locked. He could easily blast the door open, but then the crew would know that someone had broken in. The last thing they needed was to arouse suspicion.

“No worries.” Bilbo stepped around him and studied the lock. He turned and handed his package to Thorin. “Hold this.” He slipped a small pin from his pocket and set to work on the door.

Thorin sent a quick glance around the ship to ensure they were not being watched, then turned back to the Bilbo. “You know how to pick locks?”

“I know how to do quite a few things that would surprise you,” Bilbo said, attention still focused on the door. He gave a satisfied sigh as the lock gave a small  _ click _ , and straightened up. “There you are.”

Carrying both packages, Thorin pushed open the door and walked down to the cargo hold. The room was fairly large, with crates, sacks, and barrels stacked against the walls and in the center of the room, and a space in between to provide easy access to the majority of the goods. He set down the two sacks on one of the boxes and began searching the room for a hiding place.

“Back here.” Bilbo beckoned him over and gestured to a space behind a large stack of boxes. “This could work.”

Thorin paced in a semi-circle around the spot, gauging its visibility from the rest of the room. One would have to be leaning over the cargo to spot them, and he doubted any of the crew would be so attentive if they came down here. “All right.”

They situated themselves in the cramped space, which was a little smaller than he had expected. Their shoulders pressed together as they sat side by side. Thorin placed his swords against the wall, close enough to reach easily, but not so that they’d be in his way.

Bilbo sighed and shifted, trying to get comfortable. “I can already feel my legs getting stiff.”

“Try and get some rest,” Thorin said. “We’ll have to be alert when the crew boards the ship.”

“Right.” He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.

“Thank you,” he added. Without Bilbo’s help, they never would have made it onto the ship. Though he still had doubts about the halfling’s ability in combat, it seemed he had underestimated him in other ways.

Perhaps there was a chance this could work.

Bilbo did not open his eyes, but a small smile curved his lips. “Good night, Thorin.”

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 

The first of the crew stepped onto the ship just after dawn. Thorin could hear their footsteps and voices above as they boarded and prepared to set sail. He kept an ear out for anyone stepping into the cargo hold, and reached out with one hand to wake Bilbo.

The halfling blinked a couple times, his face contorting in confusion. Thorin watched as realization dawned, and Bilbo winced, shifting again to try and stretch his legs. “Is it morning already?”

“Aye. The men have boarded the ship, so we need to keep quiet.”

“Ah.” Bilbo resettled himself, and the room fell into silence once more.

A few minutes later, the crescendo of voices sounded in the hallway outside, then entered the room.

“See? Everything’s as it was, just like yesterday.”

Thorin tensed up, remembering the two sacks he had left the previous night. If the two men noticed something was out of place…

Footsteps creaked, drawing closer to their hiding place.

“Do we really have to check the whole ploughin’ room?” asked the man who had first spoken. I swear I locked the door last night.”

“Maybe you forgot. Anyway, it’s captain’s orders. He’s still on edge from yesterday.”

A scoff. “Like a witcher’s going to be hidin’ away here ready to pop out and gut us.”

The other man chuckled at that, and the door swung closed as they walked out.

Bilbo let out a small sigh of relief. “Do you think anyone will come in here again?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“How long is this trip supposed to last, anyway?”

“Less than a week, if the weather is in our favor.”

Bilbo gave a small hum and shifted again. “Have you ever been on a ship before?”

“No. Dwarves are not typically seafarers.” It actually brought him a subtle sense of unease, to be out on the open water with no earth beneath his feet. He could live with the feeling, but there was a reason the dwarves of Erebor had left the river trade to the men.

“I see. I would like to get a glimpse of the sea once we set sail, though.” There were no windows in the cargo hold, which was only dimly lit by cracks in the ceiling.

“We should try to lay low,” Thorin said. “We can’t risk one of the crew noticing us.”

“Speaking of, how are we planning to get  _ off  _ the ship?”

He turned to Bilbo, one eyebrow raised. “You were the one who smuggled us on here in the first place. I assumed you had an answer.”

Bilbo seemed to take his statement in stride, shrugging and saying, “Well, I suppose when they come down here to unload the cargo, they’ll find us and throw us off the ship, which will land us right where we want to be.”

Thorin nodded. “That seems to be our only option.” But one hand, almost unconsciously, went to rest on his steel sword.

* * *

 

  
  


The ship gave another lurch, making a loose box slide a few inches to the left. Thorin glanced up as another bout of thunder rumbled overhead. Thankfully, none of the rain that was lashing the deck above had leaked down into the hold.

“How long do you think this is going to last?” Bilbo asked, brow furrowed and arms wrapped around his stomach.

“I’m not sure,” Thorin said, and this was true for the duration of the storm and what to do about his companion’s illness. He had no medicine for it (witcher potions were too strong for normal folk) and he didn’t know of any other remedies.

The ship gave a particularly bad lurch, and Bilbo winced, pressing his lips together.

“ _ Please _ do not be sick here,” Thorin said. That was the last thing they needed, being stuck down here for another few days.

“I’ll try.” He took in a deep breath through his nose. “Why don’t you talk to me about something? I think I could use a distraction right now.”

Thorin blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What would you like me to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Anything that doesn’t have to do with rocking ships.”

That didn’t narrow things down very much. Perhaps it would do him good to talk about something solid, unmoving…

“Have you ever seen a troll?”

“No, I haven’t. I assume you’ve fought one before?”

“It didn’t come to that, actually. I was up north, searching for a different monster when I happened upon the troll. When it saw me it said…”

He described the strange encounter, which led to another story about a haunted village. The sea eventually calmed, though rain still pounded overhead. After a while, Bilbo dozed off. Even when the ship tilted again, the halfling did not wake. Instead, his head lolled to the side and came to rest on Thorin’s shoulder.

Thorin stiffened at first, surprised by the contact, then relaxed. Letting Bilbo sleep was certainly preferable to having him seasick. The rocking of the ship continued, but the halfling’s head didn’t budge, and eventually Thorin felt his own eyes drifting closed.

* * *

 

A deafening  _ crack _ sounded from above, followed by a terrified shout. Thorin jolted awake, one hand instinctively flying to his sword. The movement dislodged Bilbo’s head from his shoulder, and he sat up with a sleepy groan.

“What was—“

The noise came again from a different part of the ship, and Thorin finally identified it as the sound of splintering wood.

_ Danger _ . It was rolling over the ship in waves, and he cursed himself for not waking sooner. The whole ship lurched, nearly sending him off balance as he pushed himself to his feet.

Bilbo stood up as well. “W-What’s going on?”

“The ship is under attack.” Thorin stepped out from behind the boxes and strapped both swords to his back in a swift, practiced motion. The dangerous presence belonged to a monster. It couldn’t have been on the ship with them, or he would have noticed it earlier, which only meant one thing—the storm had stirred something up from the depths of the sea, and it had identified the ship as its next prey. “Stay here. I’m going to kill it.” He sprinted for the door.

The rest of the ship was in chaos. Men were running about, carrying tools and struggling not to slip in the shallow layer of seawater that was sliding over the floor. Whatever was attacking them had breached the hull, Thorin concluded, and sped up his pace.

A few of the men glanced at him in surprise, but no one stopped him, evidently too concerned with preventing the ship from sinking. Thorin was nearly at the stairs when something altogether unexpected blocked his path.

The ceiling exploded as a massive gray tentacle as thick as his torso speared through the wood. Thorin’s blade was out in a flash, slicing through the appendage and causing dark blood to splash onto the wood splinters littering the floor.

He cursed under his breath and took the set of stairs leading to the deck. It was just his luck that their ship would be attacked by a kraken.

Stepping out into the sunlight, Thorin surveyed the chaos. More men were running about, attempting to dislodge the half-dozen tentacles stuck through the ship with various tools. Captain Carter was the first to see him, and paused in shouting orders, anger mingling with the fear on his face.

“Witcher!” He drew the ornate sword on his belt and advanced on him. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving your ship,” Thorin said, flicking some blood off his blade. “You need me to kill this monster. Step aside or you  _ will  _ regret it.”

Carter’s flushed face darkened a shade, but he lowered his sword and went back to shouting orders to his crew.

Thorin took that as an acquiescence and set to work, running for the nearest tentacle and severing it in one stroke. The remainder of the appendage thrashed and disappeared into the water.

From the position of the tentacles, Thorin imagined that the rest of its body was below the ship, and that the kraken was planning on crushing the vessel from below. All he had to do was make it very painful for the beast to maintain its hold and it would eventually let go.

He severed the next two tentacles with little effort. The third, however, was buried deep within the wood, and was too thick to cut in one stroke. Thorin was about to deliver the second when the tentacle began to retract from the deck. The next thing he knew was the floor beneath his feet breaking, a gray mass flying up, and his body jerked as the rest of the tentacle crashed into him.

Thorin went airborne, the sea, the sky, and the ship spinning in rapid succession before his body crashed into the water below. Cold water enveloped his body, making him tense up for a moment. He surfaced a second later, spitting out a curse and some seawater in the same breath, and tightened his grip on his sword.

Dwarves were not seafarers, but thank Mahal he knew how to swim.

He moved towards the ship, his movements slowed by the hand holding his sword. The water beneath him shifted, and Thorin barely had time to take a breath before a slimy appendage wrapped around his chest and pulled him underwater and into the dark depths of the sea.

Fighting against the rushing in his ears and the pounding in his chest, he sliced at the tentacle holding him. His stroke missed completely, diverted by the rapid movement of the water. Thorin shifted to get a better angle and tried again, this time managing to cut part way through the appendage.

Blood clouded the darkening water. Through the haze, he caught sight of a massive gray shape drifting beneath the ship. Thorin twisted his body, and the tentacle finally loosened its grip. He kicked off of the slimy flesh, pushing himself towards the surface. His lungs were beginning to hurt from the lack of air, and it took all of his willpower to swim upwards.

After what seemed like hours, Thorin broke the surface with a gasp. He took a moment to fill his lungs with air, then turned and began swimming towards the ship. The kraken had relinquished its hold on the vessel, which meant it would likely bring its body up next to attack.

A rope slapped against the water, and Thorin grabbed it. Gradually, he was hoisted up and onto the ship, where one of the sailors helped him aboard.

“Is the beast dead?” he asked.

“Not dead. Just weakened.” He crossed over to the other side of the ship and peered down into the water. A hulking gray mass was growing larger beneath the surface.

“Going well so far?” a familiar voice asked, and Thorin turned to face Bilbo in exasperation as the halfling gave him a concerned once-over. “Did you fall in?”

“What did I tell you?”

“You told me to stay out of the way,” Bilbo said. “Didn’t say anything about staying below deck.”

Deciding he would deal with him later, Thorin turned to the rest of the crew. “Get away from the edge. The monster is going to try and ram the—”

Everyone cried out as the ship jerked, throwing a few men off their feet, and a noise like a hollow drumbeat sounded from below. Thorin grabbed the railing with one hand and Bilbo’s arm with the other to keep them both upright. As the vessel swung back to right itself, Thorin leaned over the edge and saw a gray mass approaching the surface of the choppy water. Just below him was a vague round shape on the kraken’s body. 

This would be his only chance to kill the beast. With one hand on the railing to keep his balance, he leapt up onto the wood and shifted his grip on his sword so the blade was facing downwards.

“Thorin?” came Bilbo’s voice from behind. “What are you doing?”

The round shape shifted, revealing an elongated pupil surrounded by a silvery iris. The monster’s eye alone was wider than he was tall.

_ Not an easy target to miss _ . With a roar, he leapt off the railing of the ship and plummeted downwards, his blade aimed at the eye.

Seawater and a strange sticky fluid splashed onto his face as he landed, sinking up to his knees in soft tissue. The beast jerked, nearly throwing him off balance, but Thorin used the movement to cause further damage to the monster’s eye, throwing all of his weight into driving his blade deeper. Given its size, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to reach the brain, but the eye was his best chance at killing it.

Without warning, the beast sank underwater. Thorin twisted his sword to free it, then pushed off. Fighting against the pull of the water as the monster sank deeper, he made it to the surface and was once again hefted back onto the ship.

They waited in breathless silence as the the monster drifted back into the depths of the sea. Thorin wasn’t sure if it was dead or merely retreating, but either way, it was no longer attacking the ship. He sheathed his sword and stepped back from the railing. 

Captain Carter pushed his way to the front of the crowd of wide-eyed sailors and glared at him for a long moment. “What gives you the right, witcher, to sneak aboard my ship?”

Thorin reached for his steel sword, already sizing up the crowd of men surrounding him. But before he could act, Bilbo stepped in front of him and said in a slightly unsteady voice, “Half a moment. If it weren’t for Thorin, this ship would be in pieces and you’d all be drowned thanks to that monster.”

“Bilbo.” He placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to pull him back, but the halfling swatted him away as one would a particularly bothersome fly.

“This dwarf here has just save all your lives, and the least you could do is offer him a bit of gratitude.” He drew himself up to his full height (which wasn’t very much at all) and fixed his gaze on the captain. “I propose that, in exchange for services rendered, you grant us passage on your ship.”

“Services rendered?” Carter echoed, his brows pinching in a glare.

“He did save the ship,” one of the sailors said, and a handful murmured in agreement.

Looking as if he was chewing on a lemon, Carter stammered for a minute before he ground out, “You must stay out of the way for the rest of the voyage. If I catch even the slightest hint of misbehavior from either of you, I’ll toss you into the sea myself.” He turned to his crew. “Let’s move! Get this ship cleaned up and get us back on course.”

The crowd dispersed, leaving Thorin and Bilbo standing near the railing.

“I’m surprised that actually worked,” Thorin said, relief eclipsing most of his irritation towards the halfling.

“I know,” Bilbo said, hands settling on his hips. “But it doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Thorin looked down at his companion, and something close to a smile moved on his lips.

* * *

 

They moved to the front of the ship, where they were least likely to be in someone’s way, and watched the water swell and shift.

“Are you all right?” Bilbo asked, the wind blowing his curls into an unruly mess.

“What?” Thorin turned his head to look at the halfling.

“I mean, have you got any injuries? You did just get into a fight with a giant squid.”

“I think the squid got the worst of it. I’m fine.”

“How on earth did you know to jump on its eye like that?”

Thorin shrugged. “I did study a good bit of theory when it comes to monster killing, so I knew that the eye was likely going to be a weak point. But most of it was improvisation.”

“Have you ever fought a monster as big as that one before?” Bilbo peered down into the water, as if he were still hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature.

“Not even close.” Thorin crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on the railing. Theory and instinct alone had aided him during the battle. But he would need to have experience for when he faced the dragon Smaug, who was even larger than the beast he had just defeated.

Though perhaps time had distorted his memory of the dragon. That day had been one of chaos, when Smaug had taken Erebor. Most of it came in flashes—a wall of scales passing inches from his face, charred flesh and broken bones, a haze of smoke and dust.

“I still think the captain should have paid you for that,” Bilbo said, bringing him back to the present. “That was no small feat, what you did.”

“He granted us passage to Skellige. I wouldn’t expect anything more.” He glanced at the crew, who were going about their duties and stepping around the tentacle-sized holes in the deck as if their ship hadn’t almost capsized. “And money is of no concern to me.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “I thought being a witcher is how you make a living.”

“It is. But that’s not why I became one.”

He lowered his gaze, considering his next words, then said, “I heard witchers are taken from their families as children and trained from a very young age. Is that what happened to you?”

“That is the case for most witchers, but not for myself.” He paused, thinking how to best put his answer. “I joined their ranks ten years ago, to learn how to kill monsters.”

“Really?” Bilbo lifted his eyes to Thorin’s face, searching it as if he could find some sort of hidden meaning there. “Why?”

Thorin said nothing for a few moments. Even after many years, it was still a painful topic to discuss. But Bilbo had been an understanding and open-minded listener so far, and he saw no harm in sharing at least part of the truth with him.

“I come from a dwarf kingdom called Erebor. Many years ago, it was taken from my people. A dragon came from the north and drove us out of our home. In becoming a witcher, I hope to one day slay that dragon and reclaim my homeland.”

As he spoke, Bilbo’s eyes widened in understanding. “That’s...not what I expected, honestly.” He gave Thorin a small smile. “But your people must be very proud of you.”

Thorin lowered his gaze to the choppy water below. The issue of Erebor was controversial among the dwarves in the Blue Mountains. Many were content to remain in the smaller settlement and live in peace, while others sought to reclaim the mountain. He had not consulted his kin in person before traveling to this world, only sending a letter explaining the situation to his sister before departing with Gandalf.

He was not looking forward to having that conversation when he returned.

“I’ve never heard of Erebor, actually. I thought all the dwarf kingdoms were in the Mahakam Mountains.”

“Erebor is...quite far from here.”

He had visited Mahakam a few years ago, curious as to how the dwarves of this world lived (and perhaps also seeking a sense of kinship among those of his own race). There had been stark differences in the architecture, the language, the way they dressed themselves and styled their hair. But it had been similar enough overall to make him ache for his own home—so much so that he’d been able to visit only once.

“What’s it like there?” Bilbo asked. “I’ve never been to any dwarf kingdom, so I don’t have much to go on, but…”

“It was the greatest of all dwarf kingdoms.” A wave of nostalgia mixed with longing and pride swept through him as his mind filled with thoughts of Erebor. “Countless chambers and halls of green stone illuminated with golden light. Our craftsmen fashioned objects of incredible beauty from the gold and gems hidden within the mountain. It was a place of great prosperity, and the pride of the dwarvish people.”

Bilbo was staring at him, an almost melancholy softness in his gaze. “You must really miss it.”

“Aye.” Perhaps some of his people had managed to move on and accept the loss of Erebor, but Thorin would never be able to forget what those halls had held, and all they had been forced to sacrifice.

And because of that, he would not stop until he reclaimed what had been taken from his people.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

“This is incredible.”

Bilbo stared with wide eyes as the ship approached the Kaer Trolde Harbor. The small port town was nestled at the foot of a group of towering black cliffs, capped with snow and tinged orange by the setting sun. He pointed up to a structure atop one of the cliffs. “What is that?”

Thorin followed his gaze. “That is the Citadel of Kaer Trolde.” The building was actually situated on an island off the mainland, with a high bridge connecting it to the cliffs across the narrow strait. “I’ve heard that from the highest tower, one can see the every island in Skellige.”

Bilbo shot a hopeful smile in his direction. “Any chance we have some extra time before we have to go thief-hunting?”

“We didn’t come here to see the islands. Tomorrow, we’ll need an early start to find our quarry.” He lifted his gaze to the fortress. “Besides, I believe we’d need an invitation from the Jarl to enter the citadel.”

“All right.” Bilbo shrugged it off. He turned back to the island and watched the small port town grow nearer.

Thorin looked down at the water. If things had been different, he would have tried to indulge Bilbo’s wish to see the citadel. Strangely enough, he would have liked to. But they had a mission on their hands and little time for anything else.

The ship finally docked, and the sailors immediately set to work so they could unload their goods. As the gangplank descended, Thorin and Bilbo made to exit the ship, halting only at the sound of the captain’s voice.

“Witcher.”

Thorin turned, impatience coloring his gaze as he nodded for the man to continue.

Carter scuffed one boot against the deck, his eyes roaming around the ship for a moment before he spoke. “You have my thanks, for saving my ship. But we’d best not cross paths again.”

“We won’t.” With a slight incline of his head, Thorin turned and left.

“Interesting as that was, I’m glad to be back on solid ground again,” Bilbo said, falling into stride next to him as they entered the town.

“That I can agree with,” Thorin said. Besides being on land again, it was also a comfort to him to be surrounded by mountains—something Skellige had in abundance.

The townspeople paid them no attention as they walked through the street. That was another thing Thorin liked about the islands. The islanders he had encountered on the mainland were lawless, wild folk, but also cared less when it came to differences in race.

They passed into a small square, which was bordered on one side by the tavern. Already, they could hear laughter and chatter coming from the hall that dominated one side of the building.

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” Bilbo asked.

Thorin turned to him. “Hm?”

“A hot meal, a mug of ale, and a real bed to sleep in.” He counted off each on his fingers as he spoke.

“I fear you may have trouble with the last one. Skelligers are known for their rugged lifestyle. I’ve heard they sleep on nothing but rows of wooden slats. Sometimes they’ll put a bed of straw down for comfort.”

“What? Really?” Bilbo turned to look at him and, seeing the twitch at the corner of Thorin’s mouth, let out a surprised laugh. “Oh, you’re joking. I wasn’t sure witchers had a sense of humor.”

“It’s a rare trait among us.” Thorin opened the door to the tavern and stepped inside.

The hall, occupied by long tables laden with meat and ale, was filled with noise. Most of the patrons were engaged in lively conversation, and a few were already well on their way to getting drunk. A boar roasted on an open fire near the back of the room, filling the air with the pleasant smell of cooked meat.

It reminded him painfully of home.

Within a few minutes, they were seated at one of the tables with a mug of ale and a plate of food for each of them.

“So, where are we headed tomorrow?” Bilbo asked, humming appreciatively as he took a bite of the roast. “Are we going to one of the other islands?”

Thorin gave a subtle glance at their surroundings, but everyone nearby was absorbed in their own conversations. “I have reason to believe our thief is hiding in an an abandoned watchtower on one of the smaller islands.”

“So, we go up there and...what? Take back what’s ours?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Do you think there’ll be a fight?”

“I’m counting on it.” Noticing the pondering look in Bilbo’s eyes, he added, “And I expect you to stay out of the way when it comes to that.”

“ _ If _ it comes to that.” He took a sip of his ale. “Some things, like giant sea monsters, can’t be avoided, but I’ll bet we could take our belongings back without them noticing we were even there.”

Even if stealth had helped them in the past, it wasn’t how Thorin preferred to work. To sneak about reeked of cowardice in most situations, and he was no coward. Dwarves had never won their battles through the use of spies and assassins.

Before he could say this, Bilbo’s gaze lifted to something behind him. A smooth hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Are you looking for some company tonight, sir?”

He half-turned towards the owner of the voice. “No, thank you.”

Thankfully, the woman did not press him. As she walked away, Bilbo’s eyes followed her, then flickered back to Thorin.

His jaw tightened slightly. “Were you going to—”

“No!” Bilbo said a bit too loudly, then lowered his voice. “N-No, I wasn’t...I mean, that’s not the sort of…”

“There’s no shame in it,” Thorin said, though the thought of Bilbo looking at that woman, putting his hands on her, made something strained and unhappy wriggle through his gut.

“No,” he said again. “I can’t say I’m interested. At all.”

His decisive tone dispelled Thorin’s discomfort—though he wasn’t sure why he would feel such a thing at all. What Bilbo chose to do in his free time was none of his concern.

Unbidden, his thoughts strayed to Bag End. Bilbo lived alone in his large house, though he certainly could not have been lacking interested halfling suitors. Perhaps there was another reason for his relative solitude. Perhaps what Bilbo meant to imply by his statement was that he was not interested in women at all.

As soon as the thought entered his mind, Thorin dismissed it. The halfling’s preferences were of no concern to him.

After their meal they paid for a small room. They set their belongings down in silence, and despite his best efforts, the incident at dinner kept returning to his mind.

“I meant no offense, earlier,” he said as he shed his armor.

“No offense was taken.” Bilbo sat on the bed, one leg bent under the other. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a, uh, situation like that. Wasn’t quite sure how to react.”

Thorin sensed that he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but decided not to press the topic. Though there was another thing he’d been wondering about.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you.” He laid his swords within arm’s reach and took a seat on the bed next to Bilbo. “Where did you learn to pick locks?”

A slight smirk twitched on his lips. “Oh, I’ve picked things up here and there. Just because I’m not a traveler doesn’t mean all I know how to do is sweep floors and sew on buttons.”

“Fair enough,” Thorin said with a slight smile. “Though I can’t imagine you’ve had much use for that skill up until now.”

“Only when I accidentally lock myself out of the house,” he said, making Thorin laugh. His eyes widened at the sound, but he did not comment on it. “I suppose I just like to learn new things. Though usually that just means reading whatever I can get my hands on. You’ve seen the state of my study.”

“I’d thought a hurricane had swept through the room.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to laugh. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Aye, I’ve seen worse in a ransacked basement in White Orchard.”

“Oh, that reminds me of the time my cousin’s basement was flooded during a storm. And you’ll never guess what we found when we managed to get all the water out.”

They talked late into the night. It had been long since Thorin had been able to speak so freely with another and let humor enter his conversations. It was that intangible  _ something _ about Bilbo, along with his easy manner and quick wit, that had drawn him in so effortlessly.

When they finally turned in for the night, sleep claimed him easily. And as he drifted off, Thorin thought that perhaps he would not regret bringing the halfling along after all.

* * *

 

The shop smelled of salt and fish oil. The room was lit only by a couple of lanterns, as the sun had not yet risen above the mountains to the east.

Thorin approached the counter at the back, where the owner nodded to him sleepily. “I need to buy a map of the islands here.”

“Aye, I’ve got a few.” The man stood and retrieved a box from one of the shelves and set it down on the table in the center of the room. Inside was a pile of worn paper maps. “Anything specific you’re looking for?”

Thorin hesitated. If any indication that he was headed for the watchtower fell into the wrong hands, he risked the thief slipping through his fingers.

“Do you mind if we look through them?” Bilbo asked, saving them from future inquiry—though that might not have been Bilbo’s sole motivation, Thorin noticed with a touch of amusement as he watched the halfling eagerly pull the first map from the box.

The shopkeeper nodded and left them to their search. Thorin took the next one from the stack and looked it over. It showed the landmarks of the isles, as well as a few of the major towns, but there was no sign of a watchtower. 

“It’s amazing,” Bilbo said, tracing his finger over the map he was holding. “How many small islands there are.”

“Stay focused,” he replied in an undertone. “We’re looking for an abandoned watchtower.”

“Probably won’t be on a recent map if it’s abandoned,” he whispered back. “I’ll look at one of the older ones.”

Thorin glanced over at the shopkeeper, but the man had busied himself with one of the shelves on the other side of the room.

“Something like this, perhaps?” Bilbo gestured to a circular outline on the map he was holding. “This is of one of the islands to the north.”

“It’s too close to the harbor town of that island. Wouldn’t be a hideout if its in plain view of the common folk. Keep looking.”

The merchant he had questioned might have been more specific in his information, Thorin mused as he sifted through the pile. The isles could have any number of abandoned watchtowers, and the maps here, even the ones of the individual islands, were not specific enough to definitively identify such a location. After a few more minutes, though, he found the most likely candidate.

“Here,” he said, catching Bilbo’s attention as he gestured to a map of Spikeroog, an island to the northwest. “There’s a circular structure here near the southern coast. It’s a good distance from the two villages on the island, and surrounded by mountains.”

“You think that’s it?”

“It’s our best bet.” Thorin paid for the map, thanked the owner, and left the shop.

Men were already busy at the docks. Fishermen prepared themselves for the day’s work, traders and merchants moved about, and the crew of Captain Carter’s ship was bringing new cargo aboard.

“Are we going to have to wait for another ship to take us to Spikeroog?” Bilbo asked, struggling to keep up with Thorin’s longer strides as he made his way down the docks.

“No need.” He nodded to one of the smaller boats floating at the end of the harbor. “We’ll take one of these.” As long as they stayed close to the coast, their journey to the other island would be safe enough. He paid the man watching over the vessels and chose the one he deemed most sturdy.

“This is, uh, small,” Bilbo said, following him over to the boat. It was about six paces in length, and one and a half wide. Not the bulkiest of vessels, but it was cheap and would get them to Spikeroog faster than waiting for another ship. If there was one thing they could not afford to lose now, it was time.

“They’ll serve our purpose well enough.” He stopped and gestured with his chin for Bilbo to step in first.

With an uncertain grimace, Bilbo inched over to the edge of the docks and placed one foot inside the boat. The motion caused the vessel to tilt to one side, and the small mast nearly smacked Thorin in the head as it descended. Bilbo lost his balance with a yelp, and Thorin only just managed to catch him by the waist and help him upright.

“Put your weight on the center of the boat.”

“R-Right.” Bilbo corrected his footing, the tips of his pointy ears red. “I thought you said dwarves weren’t seafarers?”

“No, but we do know the basics of keeping a boat from capsizing.” Thorin released his hold and watched as Bilbo carefully made his way to the front and took a seat at the bow. Once he was settled, he prepared the sails and sat at the stern, where he would be able to steer the boat.

“So,” Bilbo said as the wind carried them out of the harbor. “You’re sure this thing is going to carry us all the way to the island?”

“This boat isn’t meant for the open sea. But as long as we stay fairly close to land and the weather is in our favor, we’ll make it to Spikeroog safely.” While in the shop, he’d traced the route to their destination. They would have a few stretches on open water, but there were a couple of islands that would steady their course along the way.

Bilbo let out a nervous laugh. “Then let’s hope there aren’t any more storms on the horizon.”

Hopefully their luck would hold in that regard as well. “You do know how to swim, don’t you?”

“Hm. Well.” His gaze focused on the slowly shrinking cliffs behind the boat. “Not exactly.”

Thorin’s hand stilled on the tiller. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t exactly live close to water, do I?”

“You live on an island.”

“Well, it’s a very large island, and I happen to live near the middle.” Technically the area was bordered by rivers on three sides and the sea on the fourth, but it still counted. Bilbo rested his hands on his knees. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Clear skies for now, at least.”

Thorin frowned, his humorous mood from earlier evaporating. Once again, doubts filled his mind about bringing the halfling along. There hadn’t been much of a choice on his part, as Bilbo had been the one to get them on the ship. His skills and shrewdness had been useful then, but as they entered the wild part of the world once more, he was reminded that the halfling had little idea how to survive on his own. Whatever happened from now on, he was responsible for Bilbo’s safety.

Perhaps the wisest thing to do was to leave Bilbo back at the harbor town, where he would have safe passage back home. He had no wish to see him come to harm, nor have him slow down his mission.

But something stayed his hand. The thief had slipped past him before, and the swords on his back would aid him little in tracking down someone who didn’t want to be found. He was going to have to be smart about this, and in that he could certainly use Bilbo’s help.

There was too much at stake to let his mind be plagued by doubt. This was a risk he was going to have to take.

* * *

 

A glowing orange beacon guided them to land. The lighthouse was actually still part of the main island, but stood at the other end of the bay.

They made their way to a small rocky outcropping set into the side of the hill. It would provide some shelter from the wind, which had begun to pick up as the sun set. 

He had dragged their boat onto the beach and weighed it down with stones to keep the tide from carrying it away. With luck, the waves would be calm tonight.

Bilbo settled down with a sigh, propping himself up against the outcropping. “Do you think it’s safe to start a fire?”

“I’d better take a look around first.” Thorin stood. Camping near water at night meant drowners or water hags could be lurking nearby. “Stay here.”

He walked along the shore for a good distance, then returned inland and circled the lighthouse. Nothing dangerous caught his attention, and whoever was manning the lighthouse was likely content to mind his business. Satisfied, he gathered some firewood and returned to their camp.

“All clear?” Bilbo asked as he approached. He was eyeing Thorin almost apprehensively, and it occurred to him that he’d left the issue from earlier unresolved, though he’d turned it over in his head quite thoroughly.

He set the firewood on the ground. “Do you know how to start a fire?”

“Well, yes. Though I’ve only ever done it in a fireplace.”

“It’s the same basic concept.” Thorin gestured with his chin for Bilbo to set up the fire. “If you’re going to be traveling in the wild, you should know how to do so properly.”

“Well, I am more than happy to learn.” He moved from his position against the rock and began arranging the firewood.

Thorin sat and watched him work, forearms resting on his knees. “You should learn how to swim as well.”

“In that frigid water?” Bilbo spared a glance at the waves crashing along the beach.

“I suppose you’d like to learn in a hot spring? Or one of the bath houses of Novigrad?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” he said with a small smile. “I’d certainly prefer it to risking being eaten by a giant squid.” He sat back on his heels. “Do you have any flint?”

“No need.” Thorin stretched out one hand and cast  _ Igni _ . The wood burst into flames immediately.

“Oh, right.” Bilbo sat back and made himself comfortable again. “I forgot witchers could use magic.”

“Only the most basic kind. Nowhere near the level used by sorcerers.” When it came to those who could wield magic, there were many more in this world than in his own.

He had put a great deal of faith in Gandalf by agreeing to travel across the barrier between worlds, and to allow his body to be changed in such a manner. The thought still nagged at him at times that some mistake would prevent him from returning. The very concept of multiple worlds was so vast and barely comprehensible, and it made him uneasy to rely on blind faith instead.

Bilbo stretched out onto his back, propping his head up with his hands. “It’s been a long while since I’ve camped out under the stars like this.”

Aye, it was more than a small challenge to rely on blind faith, Thorin mused as he glanced at the halfling.

“You’ve done it before?”

“I used to explore the lands around my home, back when I was very young. Couldn’t do that sort of thing now, though. Things have grown dangerous to the south.”

Thorin nodded. The lands south of Novigrad had been destroyed by several warring factions. During his travels he had seen much of the suffering of the people in that province, and how monsters swarmed over battlefields strewn with corpses. “Has it been dangerous for you, at all?”

“Not too much. There’s been word of a couple of bands of outlaws passing through, but nothing too serious.” Bilbo glanced at Thorin. “Have you fought in any battles?”

Azanulbizar immediately came to mind. The clash of steel and the stench of blood still echoed in his consciousness. Thorin took a deep breath and willed the memory away. “I try to stick to killing monsters.”

“I’m not sure which is worse, really,” he replied, his tone growing subdued. “Facing down an army or a griffin.”

“Monsters are predictable,” Thorin said. “In a way, that makes them less dangerous than people.”

“I suppose that’s true. But monsters will never show you mercy, or kindness.”

“Bilbo.” His tone became grave, and the halfling sat up and turned to look at him. “The men we are about to face are neither merciful nor kind. I’ve had dealings with them before. They are dangerous. I will try to protect you the best I can, but I need to be sure that you’ll be smart about this.”

He nodded. “You can trust me.”

Thorin held his gaze for a moment, then sat back. That would have to be good enough for now. For better or worse, they were in this together.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of worldbuilding in this chapter, which I hope wasn't too confusing. It's plot relevant later on, which is why I brought it up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 

Bilbo turned in his seat to stare at the approaching structure on the horizon. “Is that it?”

Thorin spread out the map on his knee and consulted it. The building Bilbo had pointed out must have been the island fortress indicated on the map. “Not quite. We’ve reached Kaer Almhult.” He looked up. “It means we’re about halfway there.”

He sighed and turned back around. “Only halfway?”

“Sea travel takes time.” Thorin tucked the map back into his coat. “We can hardly ride upon airborne mounts in the sky like the Wild Hunt.”

“Something tells me that would be a very windy trip,” Bilbo said with a glance up at the rapidly moving clouds above. “Well, I suppose this is better than staring at the wall of a cargo hold all day.”

“I’ll not argue with that,” Thorin said with a slight smile.

Bilbo looked at him, eyebrows raised, and a strange expression came over his face.

“What is it?”

“Hm? Nothing.” He averted his gaze to the side, watching a couple gulls dip down to skim across the water.

Was it fondness that he had seen? Thorin wasn’t too well-versed in identifying positive intentions from others, as it rarely came in handy in his line of work.

Nevertheless, he felt warmth spread through his chest. He felt something similar for Bilbo, despite the short time in which they’d known each other. And even though he longed to return to his home world, he was not looking forward to the moment in which they would part.

Bilbo noticed that Thorin was staring before he himself did, and smiled teasingly. “What is it with  _ you _ ?”

He cleared his throat. Showing affection was not one of his strengths, and he thought it best not to make an attempt. “Do you know how to fish?”

“Fish?” Bilbo blinked at his evasion, but made no mention of it. “No. But I’d like to try.”

“That’s another skill that may be useful to you.”

They spoke of it for a little while. Bilbo turned around once more as the island fortress drew nearer. The building had clearly been built for a grand purpose, with its wide stone walls and tall towers. They passed the island at a distance, but even from there they could see crumbling holes in the fortress and the ivy and trees that had encroached upon the stone.

“What a waste,” Thorin said. “Men build myriad fortresses and castles, and let them fall to ruin at a whim.”

“Why do you suppose it was abandoned?” Bilbo asked, sitting up straighter to get a better look at the structure.

“Could be any number of reasons. This is a small island, so perhaps it was too out of the way to be of any use. Though in that case they should not have built it at all.”

“Shame it didn’t work out, though I see no harm in it. It’ll make a nice shelter for the gulls, anyhow.”

“Dwarves do not treat such matters so lightly.” Thorin steered the boat away from a rock jutting out of the water ahead. “The time and resources dedicated to building a fortress or a town square or a smithy are of great value. Nothing should ever be built at the risk of failure.”

Bilbo didn’t respond, his gaze focused on the water. He braced one hand on the side of the boat to get a better look.

“What is it?” Thorin asked, then tensed up as he saw something move beneath the surface.

“I-It looked like a person, but…” He leaned over the side and squinted at the water. “You wouldn’t happen to know if mermaids are real, would you?” 

A glimmer appeared beneath the surface, and the water rippled. Bilbo backed up as a figure rose from the sea. He stared with wide eyes as a woman shook out her golden hair and leaned both arms against the side of the boat.

Slowly, Thorin began to reach for his weapon. “Don’t move.” 

In the next moment, her face contorted. Her hair turned black and fell into her face in shriveled strings. Fangs elongated from a jaw lined with raw, red skin. The rest of her body emerged from the water, revealing two shimmering wings and a long tail with a nasty-looking barb on the end.

“Get down!” Thorin said, moving in the same breath across the boat. His silver sword was out in a flash and pierced the monster’s chest before it could move.

Bilbo ducked down against the side of the boat, breathing hard. “What was that?”

“A siren.” Thorin looked around and cursed. More of them were slithering through the water, and some had taken flight and were coming at them from the air. At sea, they were in the sirens’ territory, and far too exposed in the tiny boat. He wouldn’t have been so concerned if he were alone, but now he had the halfling to look after as well.

A siren leapt from the water, claws outstretched. Thorin lodged his sword in the monster’s shoulder, and it let out a high-pitched shriek. He twisted his blade and sliced to the side, cutting an artery and sending a spray of blood over his armor. He kicked the siren off the boat and it sank lifelessly beneath the surface of the water.

Two more were trying to climb up the other side of the boat, and he spun and cut off both of their heads in one fluid motion. He ducked under the sail and stabbed another one as it attacked.

Despite his best efforts, the sirens were swarming the boat. One of the creatures came at him, claws slashing at his face. He slammed its head against the mast and cut the stunned beast down.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the airborne sirens fall, something lodged in its chest that glinted in the sunlight as it fell. He killed another siren and turned around.

Bilbo, still crouched near the side of the boat, was reaching for another one of the knives at his belt with one shaking hand. Thorin watched as he threw it and struck another siren in the center of its chest.

That one moment was all the time he had before another siren attacked. He returned to the fight, sword singing through the air until the water trailing behind their boat was clouded with red.

And just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Thorin made his way over to Bilbo and pulled him up by the shoulders, checking him over for injuries. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“N-No, I’m fine, believe it or not,” he said, breathing hard. He lifted his gaze and reached up with one hand to touch Thorin’s cheek. “You’ve got a scratch right there.”

“It’ll heal.” Thorin could feel Bilbo’s body shaking beneath his grip, though the hand on his face was steady and warm.

“Right.” He looked him over for a moment longer, then they dropped their hands from each other.

“I wasn’t expecting you to join the fight.” Thorin went to retrieve his sword so he could clean it. Bilbo’s aim with the knives had been more than a little surprising—the first he might have considered a lucky shot, but he’d struck down two in a row.

“Well, I figured I would help a little.” From Bilbo’s tone, it was clear the halfling was quite proud of himself.

Thorin took out a cloth and settled down at the stern with his sword resting on one knee. “You should have stayed out of it.”

“What are you talking about? I killed two of those things.”

“And you made a grave mistake while you were doing it.”

“I did?” Bilbo’s shoulders fell a little.

“Your knives are on their way to the bottom of the sea, and you have no way to retrieve them, which leaves you unarmed.”

“Ah.” His ears reddened. “Yes, I suppose I didn’t think that far ahead.” He pulled aside his coat. “I’ve still got one left, though.”

Thorin sighed and shook his head. That was better than nothing, at the very least. “Where did you learn to throw knives, anyway?”

“Well, you’re not the only experienced fighter I’ve met.” Bilbo made himself more comfortable on the seat. “I met a...warrior, I suppose I would call him, a few years ago. He sought shelter in my house, and in return he taught me a couple of tricks. One of them was knife throwing.”

As Bilbo spoke, Thorin felt a scowl grow on his face, though he quickly pushed it back into a neutral expression. He wasn’t sure why he would feel displeased at such a story, only that he was. “And what happened to this warrior?”

“He went on his way after a few days, and I never saw him again.” 

Nothing in his manner seemed to suggest that he cared about this man in any way, and this thought eased some of the tension in his shoulders. All things considered, he was glad Bilbo had learned  _ something _ that would be useful to the both of them.

“You certainly are full of surprises, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, settling his arm on the tiller. “You did well.”

And at this, Bilbo beamed.

* * *

 

They spent the night sailing, since there was no place to make camp. As the sun began to descend the following day, they finally reached Spikeroog. They landed next to a small wooded area, away from both the towns and the watchtower. Thorin did not want anyone to know they were coming.

Bilbo leapt out of the boat and onto the sand, stretching exaggeratedly. He had been none too happy about sleeping on the boat the previous night, since apparently such uncomfortable wood surfaces were prone to giving one aches in the neck and back.

Thorin climbed out as well so he could push the boat onto the shore. Cold seawater swirled around his legs and soaked his boots. It had hardly been comfortable for him either, sitting up all night and making sure they didn’t fall off course or run into any stray rocks—but they’d not come on this journey in search of feather beds and warm hearths.

“We’ll camp here for the night. Tomorrow, we’ll get an early start and search for the watchtower.” One hand came to rest on the map where it rested in his coat. He was one step closer to finding his way back home.

“All right.” Bilbo put his hands on the prow and helped bring the boat ashore, though it was Thorin who did most of the work.

After they hid the vessel next to a cluster of rocks, they headed into the woods to make camp. The sun was not yet setting, though soon it would be behind the mountains to the west.

“Fire,” Thorin said. Bilbo nodded and began searching for wood they could use. As the halfling busied himself, he searched the trees for a couple of branches that would serve the purpose he had in mind.

After a few minutes, he had a couple of sturdy, mostly straight branches in hand and set to whittling off the bark with his knife while Bilbo worked on the fire.

“What are you doing?”

“I figured you could use some practice with other kinds of weaponry,” Thorin replied, not looking up from his work. “These will serve well enough as practice swords.”

“Oh.” Bilbo appraised the two branches with more interest that was mixed in with a bit of apprehension.

“We should start now, while we still have some daylight.” He tossed Bilbo one of the branches, and suppressed a shake of the head as the halfling fumbled with it.

“All right,” he said, once he’d gotten a good grip on the sword, and stood up. “How do I hold it? Like this?”

“Grip it with your first three fingers. Use the other two to stop your swing.” Thorin gripped his own branch and held it out to demonstrate. “Now, hit me.”

“H-Hit you?” Bilbo took care to correct his grip. “Shouldn’t you teach me, I don’t know, the proper way to stand? Or how to swing a sword?”

“You won’t need to know how to stand, because any warrior with a grain of sense won’t stop moving long enough to be standing.” Thorin raised an eyebrow. “And something tells me you already know how to swing a sword.”

“Fair enough.” He stood up a bit straighter and placed his free hand over the one holding the branch. 

“Just one hand. You’re not wielding a broadsword, and I doubt you ever will.”

Bilbo corrected his hold once more and eyed his opponent. Thorin was standing in a rather relaxed position, arms at his sides and sword pointing towards the ground. With his enhanced speed, this deceptively open position had proved an advantage more than once. Inching forward, the halfling raised his sword and struck at him.

He yelped half a second later as Thorin’s branch crashed into his own, sending it whirling into the brush.

“Keep your grip on your weapon. Never let it fall from your hand.”

“Good advice, I suppose,” Bilbo grumbled, going to retrieve his sword.

When he returned, Thorin said, “Move closer before you strike. Your goal is to hit  _ me _ without hitting my weapon first. Again.”

Bilbo aimed his swing differently this time, so their swords scraped against each other instead of colliding head-on. He took a step back, then seemed to remember himself and lunged forward, jabbing his weapon towards Thorin’s abdomen.

He dodged the strike and grabbed Bilbo’s wrist, pulling him in the direction of his thrust and sending him sprawling.

“Better,” he said, though that was a given considering his abysmal first attempt. “Don’t put so much energy into your movements. I’m bigger than you, and I’ll tire faster. You should save your strength.”

Bilbo pushed himself up and brushed off his trousers. “This isn’t a very fair fight, is it? What with you being so much bigger and stronger.”

“I’d imagine most opponents you face will be bigger and stronger than you. Use your speed to your advantage. Dodge my strikes and look for openings I create.” He raised his branch. “Again.”

They continued until the forest had grown almost entirely dark. Bilbo wasn’t very happy about being thrown in the dirt again and again, but to coddle the halfling would only put him in more danger. If he wasn’t going to take the dangers of this world seriously, then perhaps their training would instill in him the idea that he was more vulnerable than he thought.

Thorin stepped around Bilbo’s thrust and swept a leg out, knocking his feet out from under him. He hit the ground with a grunt, then picked up his sword and tapped it against Thorin’s calf. “Got you,” he said with a weak smile.

“Aim for the knee next time,” he said, though he couldn’t prevent a matching smile from forming on his lips. 

He extended a hand. Bilbo grasped it and let Thorin pull him to his feet, his palm hot and sweaty against Thorin’s own. He stumbled forward, trying to catch his breath, and nearly closed the distance between them entirely. Thorin held him close for a moment, his heartbeat picking up its pace.

“That’s enough for today.” He released Bilbo’s hand and walked over to the pile of wood the halfling had arranged earlier. With a gesture, he ignited it.

Bilbo collapsed against a tree with a sigh, resting his sword across his legs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sore in my life. Well, perhaps except for the time I rolled down Cotton Hill in a barrel.”

Thorin took a seat next to the fire. “Is this another one of your childhood escapades?”

“Something like that.” Bilbo related the story as they ate a small meal from the provisions in their packs. Among his other skills, the halfling was quite a good storyteller, and Thorin laughed more than once as he recounted the mischief he’d participated in when he was younger. No doubt Fíli and Kíli would have enjoyed the tale tremendously.

He missed them, as well as his sister and the rest of his kin, and the feeling had only grown stronger over the past ten years. Often, he wondered what they would think when he returned, irreversibly changed and with ten years in a strange world behind him. It was a worry that would have to wait in the back of his mind for now—first, he had to focus on getting home.

Bilbo turned his practice sword and balanced one end on the ground. “If this were a little longer, I believe it would make a good walking stick.”

“Why would you need a walking stick?” Thorin asked, using the end of his own makeshift sword to tend to their fire. “Have you a lame leg that I’ve yet to hear about?”

“No, nothing like that,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I suppose whenever I pictured myself setting out on a grand adventure to distant lands, I always imagined I’d have a walking stick with me. It just seemed to fit the picture.”

“And in this picture, were you also stooped over with gray hair and a need for a staff to keep you upright?”

“No, but I think I shall get some gray hairs soon if you continue on making fun of me like that.” Bilbo crossed his arms and leaned back against the tree, letting his branch tip over.

“I’ll stop, then. It would do me no good to have a rapidly aging companion with me on this mission.”

“Then you’d  _ really _ have something to gripe about.” He raised his eyebrows at Thorin.

He smiled and shook his head, knowing Bilbo was just trying to get a rise out of him. “Get some rest. We’re starting early tomorrow.”

Even so, the fire had almost died down to nothing by the time either of them stopped talking and decided to get some sleep.

* * *

 

A gentle rain from cloudy skies dimmed the light of dawn the next morning. Thorin sat against a tree that protected him from most of the gentle droplets, his attention focused on the branch in his hands.

Across the clearing, Bilbo was curled up in another relatively dry patch. He’d insisted that he take first watch since Thorin had not gotten any sleep the night prior, having stayed awake to steer the boat.

For most of the early hours of the morning, Thorin had been cycling through restless worries as his thoughts turned once more towards his kin. There was no doubt he had acted recklessly, leaving for another world without directly consulting them. But Gandalf had explained that he would have had to leave within the week to avoid any complications in crossing worlds, and that such a period would not come again for a number of years.

He had spent too long waiting in silent longing for the day he could return to his home. He had seen the chance for what it was and taken it.

Whether the others would see it that way was another question.

While Bilbo woke and got himself sorted out, Thorin scattered the evidence of their campfire and strapped his swords to his back. He pulled out the map and studied it. If his observations were correct, they’d landed on the southern shore of the island. They would have to travel north around the mountain range covering most of the southern coast, then head southwest from there to reach the watchtower.

“Ready?” Bilbo straightened out his coat and brushed some water droplets from his hair.

“Let’s go.” Thorin picked up the branch he had been working on that morning and handed it to Bilbo.

“What’s this?” He took it, and a small smile lit up his face as he gazed at the object. Thorin had found another long, straight branch and stripped it of bark to smooth the surface. “You made this for me?”

He nodded, pleased that Bilbo liked the gift. Compared to the weapons and other crafts he’d made in his lifetime, it was a poor piece of work, but he had wanted to do something to make him happy in the few hours of free time he had. “May it aid your journey today.”

“This is exactly what I needed, actually. My legs are quite sore.” His tone switched to its usual casual irony, but the cheerful redness on his cheeks did not fade. He set the end of the walking stick on the ground, testing out its height. “And it feels like I have more bruised skin than not.”

Thorin stepped closer and looked him over. Bilbo had a few scrapes and bruises on the skin he could see, though none appeared too bad. He reached out and brushed his thumb over a bruise on his cheekbone. He didn’t remember hitting him there, on accident or not. It seemed halflings bruised more easily than he’d thought.

“That’s typical of a first training session.” His hand dropped back to his side. “You’ll improve over time.”

“Right.” Bilbo’s gaze dropped to Thorin’s hand, then back to his face, and the red on his face deepened.

“Let’s get moving.” He began walking and gestured for him to do the same. Bilbo had no reason to be embarrassed—he’d held up rather well during his first training session. It didn’t seem as though they’d have time for another before their encounter with the thieves, but some practice was better than none.

They continued on through the forest, with mountains towering on their left and the sea crashing against the shore to their right.

* * *

 

“We’ve gone the wrong way.”

“No, we haven’t.” Thorin withdrew the map again and looked it over. “We just need to keep heading west.”

Bilbo looked over his arm at the map. “We’ve gone too  _ far _ west.” He pointed at the paper. “We were supposed to take a left here, but we didn’t, and we need to retrace our steps.”

“We haven’t come to that yet.” He indicated another spot on the map. “We’re still right here.”

“No.” He planted one hand on his hip, the other holding his walking stick. “We came to a fork in the road a while ago, but I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew what you were doing. But clearly you don’t.”

Thorin scowled at him. “I’m following what is indicated on the map. I know perfectly well where we’re going. Come.” He began walking again.

Bilbo sighed and followed him. Despite his irritation, he was clearly enjoying using his walking stick. The sight made Thorin smile inwardly and lessened some of his own annoyance.

The trees around them glistened with raindrops. It was well into the afternoon by now, and the rain had stopped a few hours ago, but the path was still damp. Thorin kept his eyes and ears on high alert, scanning their surroundings for monsters or other enemies. It was possible Ward sent spies out to scout the woods, and that risk grew only greater as they neared the watchtower.

A few minutes later, the path split in two. “See?” Thorin glanced at Bilbo. “We’re still on the right path.”

“No.” He gestured for him to take the map out. “We’ve come to a different split in the path, right here.” He pointed at the spot once Thorin had unfolded the map. “I told you, we went too far.”

He frowned. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I am.” Bilbo took the map. “And we have to go back.”

Thorin sighed. It was clear the halfling was convinced he was in the right and was not about to let it go. A small measure of doubt made him pause—he himself did not have the best sense of direction. Perhaps it would be best to humor Bilbo. If he was right, then they’d be at the watchtower. If he was wrong, then he’d have a chance to prove him wrong. 

“Lead on, then,” he said with an exasperated gesture at the road.

Not fifteen minutes later, they had backtracked to the actual road leading to their destination. Through the trees, faded white stone upon a hilltop was visible—they’d reached the watchtower.

“We’ll not speak of this again,” Thorin said with a warning glare.

Bilbo merely smiled and tucked the map into his coat. “I’ll be keeping this from now on.”

He shook his head and started towards the woods. There was a tight cluster of bushes that would serve as a decent hiding spot. “I want you to stay here.”

“What?” He stepped forward with a frown. “I thought we were doing this together.”

“We don’t know what we’re up against.” Thorin held his gaze. “When I went to rescue the captain in Novigrad, I walked straight into a trap. If I had let you come with me, you would have been killed. Now, I’m going to head up there and look around. If I believe the thieves have nothing to suspect, I’ll come back and get you, and we’ll take back what’s ours. Together.”

Bilbo glanced up in the direction of the watchtower, and worry flickered on his brow. “Do you think it will be another trap?”

“I hope not. But that remains to be seen.” He placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Will you wait for me?”

“All right.” A small, nervous smile twitched onto his face, and he placed one hand on Thorin’s arm. “Be careful, all right?”

“Of course.” He let his hand linger for another moment, then dropped it and set off through the forest.

Swiftly and quietly, he moved through the brush, staying out of sight of the path. As the watchtower came into sight, he drew low to the ground and crept forwards. Barely a story was left of the structure, and the pale stone was weathered and smooth with age. Low, conversational voices sounded from within.

The area around the tower was barren, save for a large tree whose branches sheltered the building, so Thorin was forced to circle it at a distance to keep his cover. The archway where a door had once been was still intact, and a good portion of the back wall had caved in. From those two vantage points, he counted only three men, and saw no packages or boxes. Perhaps the tower had a basement where they kept their stolen goods.

It was strange, though, that so few men occupied the tower. From what he had learned in his search, Thorin was sure that Ward had more men under his charge, and that the watchtower was his main base of operations.

Unease prickled at the base of his neck, and a second later, the feeling spiked as Thorin heard the low click of a crossbow.

He whirled to the side, evading a bolt that sunk into the tree behind him. In a flash, he drew his sword and leapt at the attacker. The man held up his crossbow defensively and stumbled back, but was not fast enough to prevent Thorin’s blade from sinking into his chest.

The brush crackled. More men were rushing towards the scene. He cursed and let the man’s body fall. Somehow, they’d known he was coming.

Thorin lifted the crossbow and smashed it into the jaw of the first man to approach, then swung his sword to parry another’s strike with a knife. Two more men engaged him while the first struggled back to his feet.

He parried and dodged their blows, keeping his senses alert for any more men that might be hiding in the brush.  _ Another damned trap _ .

The brush behind him rustled. Thorin kicked the leg of one of the men in front of him, giving him room to turn and block a strike from behind.

Without warning, something blunt and heavy crashed into the back of his skull. His knees buckled as pain exploded in his head.

_ Get up _ , he urged himself. Losing to these thieves would mean death. He could not abandon this quest, and he could not abandon Bilbo.

But already the ground was rushing up to meet him, and Thorin knew no more after that.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was pretty fun to write Thorin training Bilbo, even if he is a bit of a hardass. Will Bilbo's two hours of training be enough to save the day?


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 

Consciousness came back to him abruptly, and Thorin suppressed a wince. The back of his head throbbed, his shoulders ached, and his arms were so numb they hurt.

He opened his eyes just barely, so he could take an inconspicuous look at his surroundings. The brightness of a fire immediately seared into his vision. Next came a halo of white stone illuminated by the flames. 

The watchtower. Thorin turned his head slightly, surveying the room. It was nighttime, and the forest outside was almost pitch black. Three men, lit orange by the fire, stood around the room. The fourth, the one who must have delivered the blow to his head, was nowhere to be seen.

A rope bound his wrists above his head, and the other end was likely tied to one of the branches of the tree sheltering the watchtower. The men had strung him up so his feet barely touched the floor.

Thorin restrained a growl of frustration. His lack of planning and his carelessness had led to this—had put him at the mercy of thieves, though perhaps that was a poor choice of words. These men had no honor or mercy, and would likely kill him once they uncovered whatever they wanted to know. If they hadn’t wanted something from him, they would have slit his throat after he’d been knocked out.

One of the thieves approached him. Thorin decided there was no use in pretending to be unconscious anymore and opened his eyes fully, glaring at the man.

“Oh, he’s awake.” The thief turned back to his companions. “Might as well get this over with now.”

“Where is Phineas Ward?” Thorin asked as the man turned back to him.

His response was a fist in his gut. Thorin grunted, though mainly because the blow jostled his strained arms. The man would have to hit harder than that if he wanted to hurt a dwarf-witcher wearing armor.

“We’ll be asking the questions, here.” A second man stepped beside the first.

Thorin pressed his toes against the ground to steady himself. They’d have to hit very hard if they wanted to get anything from him.

“Ward knew you were coming as soon as you set foot on Ard Skellig. He has eyes all over the islands. He’s long since moved from this watchtower, but he sent a group of us to wait for you here.”

His thoughts raced back to everyone they’d interacted with on the island—Captain Carter and his crew, the woman in the tavern, the shopkeeper. Which one of them had contacted the thieves?

His thoughts briefly strayed to Bilbo, but he dismissed any suspicions. The halfling had his trust. He only hoped he was not stupid enough to risk confronting the thieves, and that he would be able to avoid being caught.

“What we want to know,” the man stepped closer, “is who ratted us out in the first place. Who told you Ward was hiding out in this watchtower?”

Thorin eyed the dagger at the man’s hip. He didn’t care about concealing the identity of the merchant who had told him, but as soon as they learned he was dead, his use would expire and they would kill him.

“Have you not eyes on the mainland?” Thorin eyed both men, trying to gauge how much they knew.

The first man’s fist cracked across his jaw, though he suspected from his barely-concealed wince that the blow had hurt him more than it hurt Thorin. With a grumble, he withdrew his knife, but instead of using it, he walked over to the fire and placed it between the logs. The blade shone red with the reflected light of the flames.

“Who gave us up?” asked the second man. “Was it Omal? Son of a bitch disappeared after we left Velen.”

Thorin scanned the room. He needed to figure out how to free himself, and quickly. The branch above was too sturdy to pull down, and the knots too thick to tear apart. He couldn’t move his hands to use a Sign, either.

“Answer the question, dwarf, or we’ll have to see if you’re immune to fire as well.”

He eyed the knife, which was beginning to glow with heat. They’d find that answer to be in the negative.

“It was a merchant who told me of the watchtower.” Feeding them just enough information to lengthen their patience would buy him time to figure out a way to escape.

“A merchant?” The three thieves exchanged glances, as though trying to calculate which of their old companions would fit the description. “Give us his name.”

A slight rustle just outside the watchtower caught his attention, and as he focused his hearing, he could hear the faint sounds of a heartbeat and light breathing.

_ Bilbo _ . Thorin silently cursed and focused his attention back on his captors, though none of them seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. It seemed it was too much for him to hope that the halfling would have the common sense to run. He scanned the shadows outside of the room, searching for Bilbo so he could signal for him to flee.

An intense heat forced him to refocus. One of the men had retrieved the knife and was holding the hot blade next to his face.  _ Touch my beard, thief, and I’ll tear you in half. _

“What was his name?”

Thorin met his gaze and said, “He didn’t give me one.”

“Did he have long auburn hair, like an elf?” one asked.

“I spoke to a man, not an elf.”

“That’s not what he asked.” The blade pressed closer, and Thorin fought back a wince as pain sizzled on his cheek.

A cry sounded from outside the watchtower, making everyone turn. The sounds of a scuffle followed, and a moment later, the fourth man entered the room, dragging Bilbo behind him and tossing him onto the floor.

On one side of the man’s face, a black eye was rapidly forming, and he brandished Bilbo’s walking stick with his other hand. “This little  _ rat _ jumped me when I was coming back.” 

Despite his growing sense of panic and exasperation, Thorin felt a small measure of pride as well. Bilbo had not been caught without a fight, it seemed.

The man with the knife turned back to Thorin. “Is he with you?”

He spared a moment to look over the halfling. Bilbo had picked himself up and was kneeling on the ground, shaking badly. He could handle any sort of torture they inflicted on him, but he couldn’t let them hurt Bilbo.

“I’ve never seen him before,” he said, hoping Bilbo would play along.

“But I have seen  _ you _ before,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, and Thorin suppressed a groan. Of course it was never that easy with him. “And i-it has taken me a good long while to finally catch up to you.”

Thorin’s jaw clenched.  _ What on earth are you doing? _

“Gentlemen, have you no idea who this is?” The halfling glanced around at the men.

“Some dwarf we stole from a while back,” one said, though it was clear Bilbo had caught his attention. 

“N-Not just any dwarf. He is a witcher as well. Didn’t you get a good look at his swords?”

The man with the knife left his side and walked out of sight. Metal clanked, and he returned with Thorin’s swords clasped in one fist. “These?” He held them up and studied them. “What about them?”

“Well, there’s two, as you can see.” As he spoke, Bilbo’s voice became steadier. “And everyone knows only witchers carry two swords.”

“So he hunts monsters,” the man who had dragged him in said. “What of it?”

Bilbo eyed the mace hanging at the man’s hip and subconsciously took a tiny step back. “Well, this is n-no ordinary dwarf, or witcher, or any combination of the two.” He glanced at Thorin, and the firelight reflected in his eyes revealed just how afraid he was. “This is Thorin o-of Erebor, and he’s got a rather large bounty on his head.”

At this, all four men perked up. “Bounty?” 

“How much?” 

“Who’s giving it?”

“Well, I just so happen to have the placard with all the details.” Bilbo reached a shaking hand towards his coat. “Gentlemen, if I may…”

Thorin knew exactly what was underneath his coat, and knew as well that Bilbo would die for what he was about to attempt. “Stop this,” he said, unable to keep silent any longer.

“Quiet, witcher,” the man with the knife said, then turned back to Bilbo. “How much is it?”

“I’ve got all the details right here.” Bilbo slid one hand inside his coat.

Thorin was so tense his muscles ached.  _ Bilbo, you fool, don’t you dare _ .

Out came the flash of his last knife. To Thorin’s surprise, this was followed by a sudden release of the tension holding him up. The blade clanged against the wall behind him as he landed on his feet.

Instead of wielding it himself, Bilbo had used the knife to free Thorin.

The three men next to him shouted in alarm and drew their weapons. Bilbo hit the ground, barely dodging the mace that swung towards his head.

Thorin’s arms were too numb to use at first, so he rammed his shoulder into the man next to him, sending him to the ground. The hot blade flew from his grip, and the two swords clattered to the ground. A well-aimed kick ensured the man stayed down. Thorin shook out his arms to regain feeling in them. He bent and grabbed his steel sword, drawing it and tossing away the sheath.

He charged towards the others. His arms were still numb, enough to make his first few strikes clumsy, but as he fought, feeling and precision returned like warmth after stepping inside from a cold day. He spared a glance to ensure Bilbo had safely slipped out of the watchtower as the thieves focused on the more immediate threat, then pressed his attack with swift and powerful blows. 

The first man to fall landed in a heap on the floor, choking on his own blood. The second, Thorin knocked into the fire, and the man screamed as the flames ate at his back. He sunk his sword into his stomach, then turned to face the third.

Even with his heavy mace in hand, he had chosen to retreat. The underbrush rustled as the man sprinted into the forest. Thorin ran after him, and began closing the distance between them.

“Face me, you coward!”

The man seemed to realize that, even with his longer legs, he could not outrun a witcher. He turned and swung his mace about in a powerful horizontal blow. It was the same move that had brought him down the first time. Thorin ducked under the weapon and buried his sword in the man’s chest.

The thief fell, and the quiet sounds of the forest at night returned to the air, though the stench of blood remained. Thorin took a deep breath to calm himself. That had been too close. Perhaps he would not have survived at all, had it not been for—

“Bilbo?” Thorin swiveled, searching for the halfling. He’d lost track of him in his pursuit of the last thief.

“I’m here,” came the call from the watchtower. Thorin let out a bone-deep sigh of relief and headed back up the hill.

Bilbo was waiting for him outside, clutching his walking stick as though afraid he would have to use it again.

“It’s done. I finished off the last one.” He nodded for him to lower the weapon and picked up his stride.

He put aside the branch, but remained tense as Thorin did not slow his advance. “Look, I-I know you said I should wait behind, but after a few hours I started to get worried, and if you were in danger, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, and—” Bilbo stopped as Thorin reached him and wrapped both arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. He stiffened in shock for a moment, then relaxed and returned the embrace.

He pulled back after a moment and checked him over for injuries. “I am sorry I doubted you. You saved my life tonight.”

“Well, you had good reason to doubt me.” Bilbo smiled up at him. “But I’m very glad I was able to save you. I-I sort of came up with the whole bounty thing on the spot.”

“Your quick thinking has proved more valuable than I could have imagined.” He returned the smile and reached up to squeeze his shoulders. “And you have incredible aim.”

Even in the dim light he could see the red coloring his cheeks. Bilbo looked down. “Ah, you’ve just gotten blood all over my coat.”

“It’ll wash off. Better theirs than yours.” Thorin released him and stepped into the watchtower. His relief began to fade as he realized they had reached a dead end. Phineas Ward had not been at the watchtower after all, and he had no idea where he had gone instead.

He walked over to the first man he had attacked and checked his pulse—nothing. The blow to the head had killed him.

A strangled groan sounded from behind. Thorin stood and turned around. The man laying over the dying fire twitched, and a weak, shuddering breath racked his body. He walked over and pulled him from the fire, then grimaced as the smell of burning flesh clouded the air.

Bilbo, who had followed him into the room, coughed and held one hand over his mouth. “I-I’ll be waiting outside.”

Thorin nodded at him and turned back to the man. His eyes were glassy with pain, and he gave him a quick shake to try and rouse him. “Where is Phineas Ward? Tell me, and I’ll give you a quick death.”

Bloodied lips moved soundlessly for a moment, then he managed, “Island. Near...Spik’roog…”

“Where? Which island?” Thorin consulted his memory of the map. There were a couple tiny isles to the north and west, but without a direction, it was too risky and time-consuming to search each one.

“A-A m—” A blood-soaked cough made his chest jerk violently. “Map. Need a map.”

“Where is this map?” Thorin shook him again, but the man’s head lolled to the side with one last rasping breath.

A quick search of the room yielded nothing. The map, wherever it was, must have been taken by another thief, someone who had not stayed at the watchtower. The information was but a scrap, and ultimately useless. Thorin retrieved his other sword and Bilbo’s knife and growled out a curse in Khuzdul.

“Did he tell you anything?” Bilbo asked as he walked outside.

Thorin handed him his knife. “Ward has moved his men and his stash to a smaller island. Supposedly, there is a map revealing its location, but…”

“We don’t know where the map is,” he finished, reading the rest on Thorin’s face.

“No, we don’t.” He stalked down the hillside, frustration coiling his muscles into tense knots.

“Well, I suppose our next step is to start looking at the smaller islands, right?” Bilbo asked, hurrying to match his stride.

“They’d see us coming before we ever reached the shore.”

“What other option do we have?”

_ None. _ Giving up at his point was unthinkable. Thorin turned to glance at him. Just as it had been at the docks, they were presented with a blocked path. Bilbo had found a way through then, and with any luck, they would find one this time as well.

Neither of them would have been able to come this far alone. But perhaps together, they would make it to the end.

* * *

 

They walked along the path in subdued silence. The forest was quiet but for the sounds of animals and the rustling of trees, though Thorin kept an eye out for spies. It was unlikely there would be any more thieves in this area, but it was vigilance that would save them as they neared the island.

He rolled his shoulders, which were still sore from hanging from a tree for several hours. He’d been fortunate not to sustain any serious injuries, and the burn on his cheek was already healing. Bilbo was unharmed as well, though he seemed shaken up by the events at the watchtower.

“Are you all right?”

Bilbo looked up sharply, as though surprised by the question. “I-I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Back at the watchtower had been the first time Bilbo had seen him kill. Thorin suspected that, rather than the threat of the bandits, had been the cause for his tense silence.

“Those men would have killed us if I hadn’t killed them first. I said it before and I mean it now more than ever—the men we are facing are dangerous, and they would afford us no mercy.”

“I know,” Bilbo said softly. “But we beat them, didn’t we?”

_ We _ . There was his answer. He still considered the two of them to be together.

A flutter of air near his ear made him turn. A tiny brown bird had alighted on his shoulder. Instinctively, Thorin reached up to swat it away, but the bird merely flapped out of his reach and settled on his other shoulder.

“I think it likes you,” Bilbo said, laughter lighting up his gaze.

The bird chirped and hopped onto his still-outstretched forearm. Thorin studied the small animal. It looked, smelled, and sounded like a normal bird. But as he looked into its tiny black eyes, he found an unusually acute intelligence gazing back at him.

He drew in a breath. “Sirene?”

The bird chirped once in affirmation, then flew towards the trees.

“Um.” Bilbo blinked. “Do you know this bird?”

“No. But I do know who’s controlling it.” He set off after it and gestured for Bilbo to follow. “Come. I think we may have found someone who can help us.”

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 

“Do you mind explaining what just happened?” Bilbo asked, stepping over a fallen log and hurrying to catch up with Thorin. “Who is Sirene? And what was that bird doing?”

Thorin slowed his pace so they could walk side by side. He turned to Bilbo, but kept the bird in his periphery as it flitted from branch to branch ahead of them. “Sirene is a sorceress I met a few years ago. She is skilled in communicating with animals, and can sometimes...see through their eyes, as she was doing just now.”

As he spoke, Bilbo’s eyes widened. “A sorceress? I’ve never met one before.”

Up ahead, a small cottage was visible. As they drew nearer, the scent of basil drifted through the trees. Bilbo looked as if he wanted to stop and look at the small garden at the front of the cottage, but hurried on as Thorin approached the front door and knocked.

A woman opened the door and grinned. “Thorin. I thought it was you I spied out on the road.”

“Sirene.” He inclined his head with a smile. “It’s good to see you again.”

“How long has it been? Five, six years?” She turned her gaze to Bilbo, who was staring rather openly. “And who’s this?”

“Um.” Bilbo blinked rapidly. “B-Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He gave a slight bow, and Thorin fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, come in, the both of you.” Sirene stepped back to let them through the door.

Bilbo stammered a thank you and walked inside. Thorin suppressed a sigh and followed him through. The halfling couldn’t really be blamed for being flustered. Sirene was beautiful, as most sorceresses were, with her smooth skin and lean build that was only partially concealed by her colorful dress. A band of the same fabric kept her thick dark locks away from her face.

“I didn’t expect to find you in Skellige,” Thorin said, looking around the room. It was plainly furnished, with a shelf full of potions and herbs, another full of books, and a table near the fireplace.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect to end up here.” Sirene leaned against the table and crossed her arms. “But I sensed that the witch-hunters in Novigrad were beginning to close in, and decided it was time to move.” She spread her hands. “Here, hardly anyone bothers me. It’s safe, if a little uneventful.”

“You made the right choice. Last I was in Novigrad, they were burning mages in the square. Though living here must be quite different from city life.”

Sirene smiled. “It’s not so bad.”

The door to what was presumably the bedroom creaked open, and a redhead peered out, blinking sleepily. The bedsheet she held to her chest only partially covered the fact that she was completely nude. Bilbo turned scarlet and turned to study the shelf of books with intense focus.

“Sirene? I thought I heard someone knocking.”

“Just some old friends. Go back to sleep.”

The redhead grunted and closed the door, seemingly not even realizing there were other people in the room.

“We had a late night last night,” Sirene said. “Anyway, what are you doing in Skellige? Taking contracts from the islanders now?”

“I’m here on personal business, actually. And I could use your help.”

“Is that so?” She raised her eyebrows. “How can I be of service?”

“I’m looking for a thief by the name of Vedric Ward. I have reason to believe he and his lackeys are hiding out on one of the smaller islands off the coast of Spikeroog. But I need the map revealing its location. I know you must have eyes all across this island. Will you help me find it?”

Sirene tilted her head. “I can certainly put out a search.”

“H-How does that work, exactly?” Bilbo asked. “You talk to the animals?”

“Not exactly. I establish a psychic connection and...suggest they do certain things. They usually listen. If I focus I can see what they see as well.” She turned back to Thorin. “It will take some time before I’m able to turn up anything. In the meantime, I’d like to ask a favor of you as well.”

Thorin crossed his arms. “A monster you need me to kill.”

Sirene nodded. “This forest isn’t entirely unoccupied. There’s a leshen that lives nearby, and lately it’s become more territorial and aggressive. It’s been interfering with my connection to the animals, and giving me terrible nightmares these past few nights.”

Bilbo looked back and forth between them. “A...leshen?”

“A forest spirit.” Thorin locked eyes with Sirene. “A highly dangerous one.”

“Which is why I’ve been putting off dealing with it for so long,” Sirene said. “But with your help, I think we may have a chance at killing it.”

“Very well.” It was the least he could do for an old friend, especially since she was taking the time to help him in return. “Is there anything you need to prepare first?”

“I’ve got everything I need.” Sirene grabbed a cloak from a hook by the door and slung it over her shoulders. “We can leave now.”

The three of them exited the house, but Thorin paused at the door. “Bilbo. You should stay behind.”

He turned around. “What?”

“The creature we’re about to face is incredibly powerful, and more dangerous than you could imagine. If something were to happen—”

“I know better than to actually fight the thing.” Bilbo placed his hands on his hips. “But we’re in this together. I’d rather be out there watching your back than sitting here fretting in a cottage like an old maid.” He glanced at the sorceress. “Uh, no offense. You have a lovely house.”

“I’ll have Sirene to watch my back. It’s too much of a risk—”

“I’m coming. It’s not up for discussion. I’ll keep my distance, but I’m coming with you.”

Thorin sighed and looked to Sirene to back him up, but she was studying a patch of basil with careful attentiveness. He turned back to Bilbo and locked eyes with him. “Once we enter the leshen’s territory, you do  _ exactly _ as I say. No exceptions. Understood?”

Bilbo held his gaze and nodded.

“Then let’s get moving.” He walked past him and gestured for Sirene to lead the way. Already, he felt anxiety tickle his gut—there were too many things that could go wrong. But Bilbo would be angry with him if he was forced to stay behind, and it was possible he would simply follow them anyway. It was better to keep the halfling where he could watch over him.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Bilbo asked as they entered the forest.

“We met in Novigrad, where I used to live,” Sirene said. “He helped me when I was in a bind with some witch hunters, and in return I helped him with a contract.” A wry smile lifted her lips. “That led to a string of favors for each other, which eventually evolved into a friendship of sorts.”

“That’s an accurate enough description,” Thorin said. Sirene was brave, with a good head on her shoulders, and they’d worked well together until he’d sought work farther north and lost contact with her.

“I think once we kill this leshen we’ll finally be even,” she said, tossing a smirk over her shoulder.

“The only one keeping score is you, Sirene.”

“You two must be good friends, then.” Bilbo looked back and forth between the two of them. His eyes lingered on Thorin’s face, studying it, though he could not guess what he was looking for.

A curl of bitterness settled in his stomach as he guessed anyway. He thought of Sirene as a friend he could trust, nothing more. It seemed Bilbo’s interest went further than that. What Thorin had hypothesized back at the inn in the harbor town was untrue.

_ And it does not matter _ . He banished the topic from his mind.

“And how did you two meet?” Sirene asked.

“Bilbo hired me to kill a cockatrice that was attacking his community, and—”

“Then we decided to work together to track down a thief.” Bilbo glanced at him, as if seeking confirmation, and Thorin shrugged. That was probably the simplest way to describe how they had come to be partners.

“What do you know of this leshen?” he asked Sirene, changing the subject. “Is it one of the old ones?”

“Not ancient, I don’t think,” she replied. “But powerful. Its hold on the animals of this forest is quite strong. I’ll sleep more easily once I know this thing is dead.”

“So this leshen can control animals like you can?” Bilbo asked.

“In a similar fashion, yes. I believe our shared...talent is the reason for its aggression. One would think—”

“Quiet.” Thorin threw out one hand to halt Bilbo. “Do you hear that?”

A couple heartbeats ticked by, then Bilbo whispered, “Nothing.”

The forest had fallen silent, save for the whisper of the wind through the trees. The birdsong that had filled the air half a minute ago had ceased.

“I can feel its presence,” Sirene said, scanning the trees. “It’s warning us to turn back.”

Thorin took Bilbo by the shoulders and guided him to a nearby tree. “Stay here. If you see even the slightest glimpse of the leshen, run and do not look back.”

“And if you get hurt—”

“If I get hurt, that is all the more reason to flee.” He drew closer, gaining his full attention. “This is not a group of bandits, Bilbo. The leshen cannot be tricked or stalled. It is a monster that relies on instinct, and it will not hesitate to kill you. Do I have your word that you will keep yourself safe?”

Bilbo visibly swallowed. “Yes.”

Satisfied, Thorin released him and turned back to Sirene. “Ready?”

She nodded, jaw set in determination, and the two continued on into the forest.

They hadn’t gone far before the leshen soundlessly stepped out from behind a tree. Though humanoid in shape, the monster was undeniably otherworldly. Its body was made of wood, wrapped in lichen-covered bark and moss. Its head took the form of a deer’s skull, with a large set of antlers and pointed, gnarled claws on its hands to match. A tattered brown cowl hung about its neck.

“I’ll keep the animals at bay,” Sirene said, stepping back as Thorin drew his silver sword. “Good luck.”

He approached the leshen, keeping his senses sharp. From somewhere out of sight, a pack of wolves growled, but made no move to attack. The sharp eyes of a dozen crows glinted from the trees. From what he had studied of leshens, half the battle was merely getting close enough to land a hit, as they summoned swarms of animals to their defense. This time, Sirene would be blocking the monster’s influence, leaving Thorin with just one opponent to face.

The leshen raised its claws and plunged them into the earth. A minute rumbling sounded from beneath his feet, and Thorin dove out of the way as a handful of roots, the tips as sharp as spears, erupted from the earth and pierced the air where his torso had just been.

He turned his impact with the ground into a roll and leapt to his feet. Before the leshen could pull its claws from the ground, Thorin lunged forward and slashed across its chest. The monster gave a deep, inhuman grunt and stepped back, its claws finally leaving the earth. He dodged as one of its appendages swung towards him. Leshens were slow enough that their blows were easily evaded, but a direct hit was like being kissed by a battering ram.

With his free hand, Thorin formed  _ Igni _ , and the beast grunted again as flames licked its body. He managed to get in a few more hits before the monster vanished in a puff of smoke. Lowering his sword, he spun in a circle, searching the forest for the beast.

Above his head, the crows cawed restlessly and flapped their wings. 

“Would you mind hurrying this up a little?” Sirene asked. She had one hand pressed to her temple, and seemed to be fighting a strained grimace.

“If the damn thing would show itself...” He raised his sword as he spotted a flash of bone in the midst of a tall cluster of ferns. Dodging another group of emerging roots, he sprinted forward and cast  _ Igni _ once more. The brush ignited, and the leshen vanished again.

Thorin stepped back and surveyed the area once more. Magic-wielding monster or not, the leshen was at least part wood, and burned just as easily as a stack of logs. Another shot or two of  _ Igni _ would finish it off.

A flash of smoke in his periphery signaled the presence of the leshen, but Thorin’s heart stuttered as he realized the monster had chosen a new target.

“Sirene! Behind you!” He was already sprinting for the sorceress, but knew he would not be able to reach her in time.

She spun around with a gasp as the leshen raised a clawed hand. The incantation for a shielding spell flowed from her lips, but even with the magical barrier, the force of the leshen’s blow sent her crashing into a tree.

Thorin was there in the next instant, slashing at the creature’s spindly limbs. As soon as it disappeared, he knelt down to Sirene. “Are you all right?”

“I’ll live.” She sat up with a wince. “But I lost—I lost my hold.”

“On the animals?” he asked. His answer came in the form of an angry cacophony as the crows swooped down to attack. He hit the ground, pulling Sirene down with him, and the sharp claws of the birds passed inches from his head.

As soon as they were gone, Thorin pushed himself to his feet. “Try and get the animals back under your control. I’ll take care of the leshen.” He spied it near a cluster of bushes and started forward, but stopped dead as a new voice rang out:

“Thorin!”

He turned and sprinted away from the monster, towards where he had left Bilbo. The halfling was backed up against the tree, right where Thorin had told him to stay. His walking stick was aimed unsteadily at the pack of wolves approaching him.

There were three beasts, and Thorin made quick work of two. The third paused before it could attack Bilbo, then retreated with a growl.

Sirene had regained control. He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Bilbo. “Are you all right?”

He nodded shakily. “I-I’m fine. I think I should go, now.”

Almost imperceptibly, the earth under their feet trembled. 

Thorin lunged for Bilbo, but his path was blocked as another group of roots shot up from the ground.

Bilbo let out a strangled gasp. The pointed tips had pierced his shoulders, chest, and stomach. The roots vanished into the earth as quickly as they had come. For one horrid, quiet moment, he was perfectly still as spots of red bloomed on his shirt.

And then he fell.

With a roar, Thorin turned towards the leshen as it pulled its claws from the earth. Dry, blackened cracks were already visible on the monster’s wooden skin, but he blasted it with Igni anyway. The creature stumbled back, and Thorin closed the distance between them a second later, hacking at the beast in a blind fury.

With one final, powerful swing, he struck the leshen with enough force to send its head flying from its body.

Before the corpse of the monster had even touched the ground, he was rushing back to Bilbo’s side. Sirene had already reached him and turned him over onto his back. The majority of his front was soaked in blood, and a few drops ran down his chin as he gave a painful cough.

“Bilbo.” Thorin’s hands hovered over his chest. Panic set in, causing a white, buzzing numbness to fill his mind. He turned to Sirene, breathing hard. “Heal him.  _ Please _ .”

Her hands were already raised, palms filling with a white glow as she muttered an incantation under her breath. The same glow lit up Bilbo’s torso, though he still struggled for breath and twitched in pain.

After a moment, she dropped her hands. “No, this won’t work.”

“What?” His voice sounded distant to his own ears.

“Halflings are immune to magic. This healing spell won’t work on him.” Sirene fisted bloody hands in her cloak, her jaw tight. “I have medicine in my house, but we need to hurry.”

At this, Thorin finally forced himself back into action. Trying not to jostle his injuries, he scooped up Bilbo and broke into a run with Sirene beside him. In this position, every labored breath, every spasm of pain from the halfling was agonizingly evident. He pushed himself to go faster, legs straining with each pounding step towards the house.

Seeing that he was pulling ahead, Sirene panted, “Set him on the table. Grab the blue powder on the third shelf and sprinkle it over his wounds.”

Bilbo had gone terrifyingly still by the time they reached the cottage. The redhead, now fully clothed, was kneeling in the garden, and looked up in surprised as they approached.

Thorin burst through the door and set Bilbo on the thankfully empty table, trying not to think about how shallow his breathing had become. With shaking hands, he grabbed the correct bottle and emptied the contents onto Bilbo’s abdomen. The powder mixed with the blood and turned a dark red.

Sirene entered the room a few moments later, the other woman on her heels. “Good, you did as I asked,” she said, striding over to the shelf and gathering more bottles. “That should slow the bleeding a bit.” She turned to her companion. “Ingrid, I need water and clean rags.”

Ingrid nodded, her face pale, and rushed out the door.

“What can I do?” Thorin’s voice was hoarse as he gazed at Bilbo’s face. His eyes had fallen shut, and the pallor of his skin contrasted horribly with the blood around his mouth.

“Stay out of the way. I need to concentrate.” She put her supplies on the table and set to work. “Wait outside. There’s nothing more you can do.”

It took a hard shove to his shoulder from Sirene to get him moving. He walked away from the table and out the door, his pulse pounding almost deafeningly in his ears.

After a numb stretch of what could have been minutes or hours, anger began to melt his shock. It had been unspeakably irresponsible and foolish of him to bring a helpless halfling across the sea. If he had turned Bilbo away when they had met in Novigrad, he would have never been forced to face the danger that now threatened to take his life.

It had been Thorin’s selfishness that had led him to this end. His desire for companionship had blinded him to the risks that had accompanied his partnership with Bilbo. The blood staining his hands and arms and chest was his fault, and his alone.

His thoughts cycled through self-castigation and fear and numb denial more times than he could count. The sun had set by the time he was disturbed from his thoughts. At the creak of the door behind him, Thorin shot to his feet, though he could not remember taking a seat on the stoop.

Sirene nodded for him to come in. Shadows hung under her eyes, and she trembled with exhaustion as she made her way over to the table.

“It took some work,” she said, leaning one hand against the wood. “But he’ll live.”

Thorin’s shoulders sagged. He stepped forward and looked Bilbo over. The blood had been cleaned from his face, and some color had returned to his complexion. Clean bandages were wrapped around the entirety of his torso, and his bloodied shirt and coat had been discarded to one side. Absently, he imagined how Bilbo would complain about having his clothes being stained so, then swallowed hard as nausea twisted his innards.

_ Better theirs than yours. _

Careless. He’d been so careless. Thorin turned to Sirene. “You’ll take care of him?”

“Of course.” Her lips pursed. “Some more good news, perhaps?”

Exhaustion pulled at his limbs, but he nodded for her to continue.

“I was able to get back into contact with the creatures I sent to look for this map. My sources tell me the keeper is in Svorlag, a town north of here. He wears a yellow tunic and carries a bow.”

“How far is the town?”

“No more than half a day’s walk.” She glanced at Bilbo. “If you go now, you might be able to catch him.”

_ Go _ . That was his only option now. He took a couple steps towards the door, then paused and turned back to her. “When he wakes, do not tell him where I’ve gone. Put him on the first ship back to the mainland.”

Sirene studied his face. “Why did you bring him with you in the first place?”

“It was a mistake to bring him at all.” He let out a deep breath, purging with it his frustration and distress. All that mattered now was finding Vedric Ward and taking back what was his. “Thank you for everything, Sirene. I wish you well.”

With that, he left the cottage, and did not look back once as he entered the forest.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 

Svorlag was a tiny village on the southeastern bay of Spikeroog. Its size proved to be both a blessing and a curse for Thorin. It would be easy to find the man he was tracking among the inhabitants, but the small community also meant it would be difficult to do so inconspicuously.

For the time being, he was perched on a ridge above the town, searching for a yellow tunic as the people went about their business. It was possible that the man had already left the village, and by waiting here he was letting the trail grow cold. But venturing inside and asking questions could alert the thief to his presence and give him an opportunity to flee undetected. So he was stuck here, weighing his options. 

Briefly, he wondered what Bilbo might have suggested they do. But the thought was too painful to entertain for long. He had made it this far in part due to the halfling’s guidance, but none of that would have been worth the cost of his life.

Thorin glanced down at his hands. He had scrubbed them clean of Bilbo’s blood in a stream nearby, and the cold water had left his skin numb and raw.

He returned his attention to the town below, and tensed up as a flash of yellow caught his eye. The man walking through town matched Sirene’s description exactly, from the color of his tunic to the bow slung over one shoulder. He entered one of the buildings, though not the one Thorin knew to be the inn.

He rose from his crouch and descended the ridge, staying near the trees to keep out of sight. None looked up as he crept towards the building in question.

Thankfully, it was on the edge of town, and Thorin was free to crouch near the back of the house. From its small size and the line of clothes strung along one side, he assumed it was someone’s home. Perhaps it belonged to the thief, or an acquaintance of his.

He stood below the window and listened. The floorboards groaned as someone moved about the room. There was the creak of a door opening and closing. 

Thorin sidled to the corner and peered around it, scanning the area. The house was in plain view, and there were too many people about. If he decided to enter and forcibly take the map, he’d have a whole village’s worth of witnesses at his doorstep. If the people knew and favored this man, the odds would be stacked even greater against him.

In that case, he would have to wait either until night fell or the man left the town. The former, Thorin thought with a glance at the sky, would not be coming soon.

He settled in to wait.

* * *

 

Thorin shifted, anxiety and suspicion growing in the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right. It had been a couple of hours, and the man should have left the house by now, or at least given some indication that he was moving around within. He had strained his hearing to its limits, but found nothing.

The village was dark now, and the streets mostly empty. Thorin crept to the front of the house and slipped inside.

The interior was dark, cold, and empty. Thorin climbed to the attic above, but found only a couple of small barrels and a broken worktable. A chill swept over him, and he clenched his jaw in frustration. How had the man left without his knowledge?

He slid down the ladder, then froze as a strange, hollow creak sounded from beneath his feet. Dropping to the ground, he tried to lift the pile of sacks next to the ladder, and found them attached to the floor. Further inspection revealed a loose section in the wooden boards—a trapdoor. The sacks, filled with nothing but straw, had been tied to the wood to conceal the door when it was pulled shut.

Blood roared through his ears. The man had slipped through his fingers hours ago.

Thorin threw open the door and leapt inside. Mud squelched beneath the bottom of his boots when he landed. The tunnel before him was cramped and crudely made. Even with his enhanced senses, he could barely see more than a few feet in. But there was no time to find a torch, and there was no need for caution, either. The man had likely passed this way several hours ago.

Keeping one hand on the muddy wall of the tunnel to guide his progress, Thorin set off at a jog down the tunnel.

Within the hour, mud turned to stone, and Thorin was able to get a better sense of his surroundings. The tunnel was connected to a naturally occurring cave. A few minutes later, moonlight illuminated the uneven walls.

The faint, dry scent of ash caught his attention. He knelt down at the mouth of the cave, eyes running over the smears of gray dust on the ground. The man had made camp here and tried to hide it, though not well enough to escape the notice of a witcher. Still, the thief had left some time ago.

The cave opened up into another forest, and the soil was soft enough for Thorin to pick up the man’s footprints. He set off at a swift pace, following the trail through the woods. Worry nagged him with each step—worry that he was too late, that his chance of finding the thief was gone forever, along with his way home. Irritation at his own mistake clouded his mind as well.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost missed the creak of a bowstring ahead of him. Thorin threw himself to the side just as an arrow flew past his head.

“Who are you? Why are you following me?” came a call from somewhere nearby, followed by the sound of another arrow being nocked.

He said nothing as he ducked behind a tree, breathing hard.

The brush rustled with advancing footsteps. Thorin put one hand on his sword and listened. The man was only a few yards away. He needed only to reach him without letting him loose another arrow.

“Whatever you want, you won’t get it. You’ll have to kill me first.” The thief was nearly upon him.

Thorin drew his sword and lunged.

The man dodged his first swing with a cry of surprise, unintentionally firing his arrow somewhere into the brush. Before he could attack again, the man turned on his heel and fled.

Thorin broke into a run as well, but the man was fast, his light gear and long legs aiding his flight. It was clear he knew this forest well, by the way he picked certain trails and leapt over fallen trees and boulders with practiced ease.

On the other hand, Thorin was beginning to fall behind. He pushed himself into a sprint, then sheathed his sword so it wouldn’t slow him down.

The man was not moving in a straight line, but slowly maneuvering to double back the way he had come. Perhaps he thought he could escape through the cave.

Up ahead, the thief vaulted over a pair of boulders and disappeared into the trees. Thorin shoved aside a stray branch and made to follow him. A sharp tug to his ankle made him curse, then the world tilted upside down as his foot was dragged upwards.

The tree branch above him rustled, and Thorin gasped as blood rushed to his head. He’d been so focused on following the man’s path, he hadn’t noticed the snare until he’d stepped right into it.

The man hadn’t been doubling back to the cave—he’d been leading Thorin straight into a trap.

_ Strung up like a rabbit twice in as many days.  _ Spitting curses in Khuzdul, he drew his knife and cut through the cord holding him up. Thorin grunted as he hit the ground, then pushed himself to his feet. The trap had barely held him up, but those precious few seconds had been enough to give his quarry a considerable lead.

Thorin climbed up and over the boulders and scanned the forest. The trees had gone silent. He scanned the ground and eventually found the man’s tracks. Following them instead of the man would slow him down more than he could afford. Now that the thief knew he was being pursued, he would take care not to leave a trail. It was all too possible he would flee the island and Thorin would lose the lead entirely.

With his heart nearly in his throat, he followed the trail as quickly as he could. As he’d predicted, the man had turned back before reaching the cave and headed north once more. He had retraced his steps, retrieved one of his arrows, and…

Thorin stopped dead, eyes racing over the sight before him. The man was sprawled motionless on the grass, one side of his forehead reddening with a rapidly growing bruise. Had he knocked himself out?

There were no low-hanging branches in the area. He scanned the trees, but found no one. Keeping his senses alert, he knelt down next to the thief and searched his tunic.

“Looking for this?”

Thorin stood and spun around in the same motion, and his heart jumped into his throat. Bilbo Baggins stood at the edge of the clearing with a folded piece of paper held in one hand and his walking stick in the other. His coat and shirt had been cleaned of blood, and even under the moonlight he could see the healthy glow of his skin, though a couple bandages were still visible just beneath his collar.

Trying to keep his breathing even, he reached out. “Give it to me.”

At first, Bilbo hesitated as if he wanted to make a snarky comment, but something in Thorin’s expression prompted him to hand it over wordlessly.

Thorin opened the map and looked it over, though not a single line truly registered in his vision. Bilbo must have been the one to knock the man out—but how had he found him in the first place? “Sirene told you where I was going,” he guessed out loud.

“She refused to, actually. But I guessed you were heading north, so I followed you the best I could. When I heard all those cracking branches and pounding footsteps, I knew I’d ended up in the right place.”

The ire simmering beneath his skin flared up. “You should not have come.”

Bilbo crossed his arms and stepped closer. “So you’d rather have just let this man get away?”

His jaw clenched, and the paper crumpled in his fist. “Why do you continue to follow me?” He met Bilbo’s gaze and let his anger blaze freely in his voice. “Whatever you hoped to find was nothing but a false promise.”

Bilbo frowned, but stood his ground. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I am a witcher. I work alone. I told you at the beginning that there was a reason for this.” Thorin took a step towards him. “And I’ll tell it to you now. I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me, that you would only be a hindrance to my cause.”

“What utter nonsense!” He planted his hands on his hips and moved closer. “A hindrance? Did  _ you _ hit your head as well?”

“This is not your place,” Thorin said, his voice growing taut with the anxiety and pain that had plagued him since the leshen attacked. He would rather Bilbo be gone than follow him into danger again, and if he had to push him away to make that happen—so be it. “Would that I had never taken that contract, we had never met, and you had never stepped foot outside your door to follow me to Novigrad.”

Bilbo flinched at his words as if they’d been accompanied by a physical blow, and when he spoke next, his voice had lowered a fraction. “You say that as if we haven’t been working together and helping each other this entire time.”

“No.” Thorin stepped forward, making the halfling tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. “Every single time, it has been  _ me _ drawing my sword for your protection, and for what?”

At this, Bilbo’s voice raised in volume and temper as he said, “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I was the one who stopped that fellow there from getting away. I got us onto the ship. I freed you from those bandits. When we faced that leshen, it was  _ me _ who got injured, not you!”

“And that is precisely why you never should have come,” Thorin said, raising his voice as well. “I cannot afford to work with someone so vulnerable. I  _ refuse _ to let this continue. You will board the first ship back to the mainland, and I will not accept your partnership any longer.”

Genuine hurt flashed on Bilbo’s face, despite the stubborn set to his jaw. He took a deep breath through his nose, as if bracing himself for something. “If we’re done working together, then there’s no reason for me to listen to what you say anymore. I am going to get back what was stolen from me, with or without your help.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to be dumbfounded. “What in Mahal’s name are you talking about?”

“Not everything is about you, you know.” Bilbo glared up at him, one finger reaching up to jab him in the chest. He was so close their noses were barely brushing. “I didn’t do this because of you. I can work just fine on my own. And I don’t need you.”

“I don’t need you either,” Thorin said, his voice coming out as little more than a rasp.

“Good. Fine. That’s  _ fine _ .”

“I don’t need—”

And then, quick and unexpected, Bilbo’s lips gave the barest brush against Thorin’s. They stared at each other for a moment, wide-eyed and breathing hard, and Thorin felt a crescendo of burning longing surge through his veins. His hands moved forward of their own volition, cupping the sides of Bilbo’s face and pulling him in for another kiss.

Bilbo stiffened for a second, then pushed against him, closing any distance that might have been left between them. His mouth was soft, but pressed against Thorin’s with an insistence that set his heartbeat at an even faster pace.

Thorin gripped him tighter but pulled back an inch, touching their foreheads lightly and letting out a ragged, “Bilbo,” just before his lips were consumed again. Desire coursed through his veins as he let one hand travel up to his curly hair, fingers twining through the soft locks.

Again, they pulled apart, leaving only a breath’s space between them. When Bilbo kissed him again, it was slow and gentle. Even so, Thorin felt heat flush all the way to the roots of his hair. This—a part of him buried deep inside had wanted this for quite some time. The sounds of the forest, the coolness of the night air, even the earth beneath his feet had fallen away as all of his senses converged on the halfling wrapped in his arms.

Bilbo pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth, his cheek, then leaned back to look at him with bright eyes.  _ Fondness _ . Thorin had believed that to be the extent of Bilbo’s feelings towards him. And once again, he had surprised him, had proven him wrong.

The anger that had rushed through his veins a minute before crumbled. In its place was a startling fragility that made him clutch tighter at Bilbo. “I almost lost you.”

“I know.” His hand came up to cup his jaw, one thumb brushing over his cheek. “Now, what do you say we have a look at that map?”

The map. Thorin blinked as reality reasserted itself. There was still an unconscious man lying not two feet away. And his task was yet to be completed. He disentangled himself from Bilbo’s arms and bent down to pick up the piece of paper, which must have fallen from his grip at some point.

The details on the paper were unfamiliar. The mainland was visible on the right side, but the island off its coast looked nothing like Skellige.

“Oh, give me that. You’re holding it the wrong way.” Bilbo took the paper from his hands and rotated it. He pointed to the landmass on the edge of the map. “This has to be part of Spikeroog, right?”

Thorin withdrew his map of the entire island and held it next to the new one.

“The coastlines match up right here,” Bilbo said, indicating the area on the map. “See?”

He glanced between the two and frowned. The island in the center of the new map was not on the old one. Then realization dawned. “A hidden island.” It was the perfect hideout for a group of thieves, much more so than an abandoned watchtower.

“It looks like the island is surrounded by rocks.” Bilbo pointed again to the small shapes surrounding the landmass. “And there’s a route marked here. A way through the rocks without crashing one’s boat, I presume.”

Thorin let out a sigh of relief. Finally, the way forward had become clear once more.

Bilbo locked eyes with him. “So, are we doing this together, or separately? Because I’m going to finish this no matter what.”

His shoulders stiffened. “It’s too dangerous. The leshen nearly killed you, back there.”

“I know. I was the one bleeding out, remember? But I’m still here.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to do this. I told you, the day we boarded that ship, that I wasn’t going to let other people solve my problems anymore.”

At the mention of that day, barely two weeks ago, it occurred to Thorin just how much Bilbo had changed during that time. He was stronger now, more self-assured. The determination and fearlessness he had displayed since the first day they had met shone brighter than ever.

“It was never about you, Thorin, and what you were going to let me do.”

“I never said it was.”

“I know.” A smile quirked on his lips. “But I would like to finish this with you, if you will have me.”

His mind was still running over the events of the past few days, the conversations they had shared, everything the two of them had done—analyzing, wondering, doubting. But even as questions and reservations surfaced and multiplied, the answer had already found its way to his tongue.

“I would have you by my side, Bilbo Baggins, so that we may finish this together.”

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 

A chilly wind rustled the leaves of the trees. The sky had turned a dark blue, hinting at dawn within the next few hours.

Thorin settled back against the damp soil with a sigh. They’d found a small hollow that would offer them some protection from the wind for the night. Not even the trees could fully keep at bay the gusts sweeping in from the sea.

Bilbo had been more than willing to continue on, but signs of exhaustion were already beginning to show in his posture—it would be days before he’d fully recovered from his blood loss.

The thought only added to the doubts simmering in his mind. Thorin was certain Bilbo would not change his mind and turn back, and he could not fault him for choosing to be brave and refusing to waver from the path he had set for himself. Those were traits any dwarf would respect. Despite all odds, it seemed, they would finish this together.

But the nagging worry that Bilbo would be hurt still persisted. All it took was one wrong move, as it had with the leshen, for the irreversible to occur. It haunted him to think that it might.

Next to him, Bilbo grunted and stirred in his sleep, as though the same thoughts plagued his own mind. There was a good chance that they did. For all his stubborn confidence and determination, he’d been affected by the leshen’s attack. Few experienced that much pain and survived unchanged.

As if to prove his point, Bilbo woke with a cry, breathing hard. He sat up, checking his chest, then looked up and surveyed the hollow with darting eyes.

“It’s all right,” Thorin said, reaching out to put a hand on his back. “It was just a nightmare.”

Bilbo blinked rapidly as reality came back to him. “Right.” He looked down, schooling his expression into neutrality. “Sorry if I startled you.”

“You didn’t.” Thorin studied him with a furrowed brow. Bilbo was trying to hide his weakness, as though he still felt a need to prove himself. He shifted his hand to rest on the halfling’s shoulder. “Come here.”

With an uncertain glance that didn’t quite meet his eyes, Bilbo moved so he was sitting closer to him. With enough gentleness that he could pull away if he wanted to, Thorin guided him by the shoulder so that his head was resting against his chest.

When Bilbo did not resist, he arranged his arms to keep him comfortable. In what small way he could, he wanted to make him feel safe and hopefully chase away any more nightmares that would threaten his sleep.

And another, smaller part of him drew comfort from holding him close and feeling his warmth and breath against his skin. Whatever dangers awaited in the future, they were far away from this moment, in the hollow that protected them from the cold wind.

Bilbo relaxed against him, and after a few minutes, his breathing became slow and even. Thorin listened to his heartbeat for a while, and the steady sound eventually lulled him to sleep as well.

* * *

 

It took them three days to reach the hidden island. They took a day to backtrack south to where they’d hidden their boat. It took them another two to sail west around Spikeroog to reach the northern coast again. It would have been a slightly shorter trip around the eastern side, but there were two towns on that end, and Thorin did not want to risk being spotted.

Even with their delay, some of his worries had abated. Now that they had the map, there were no more uncertainties in their path. There was nowhere to run for the thieves, and Thorin had ensured that the man in yellow would not warn his allies that they were coming.

During the spare moments they had, Thorin took time to instruct Bilbo on the use of his walking stick and his knife when it came to combat. Three days was not enough time to put Thorin’s mind entirely at ease, but Bilbo was quick to learn and had undeniably improved since their first session.

The second night found them resting on a small stretch of beach on the westernmost end of the island, watching the sun descend over the crashing waves. They were sitting comfortably close, thighs pressed together, sharing casual touches that Thorin never would have dared to initiate a few days ago.

“So, what do you think you’ll do after this is all over?” Bilbo asked, leaning back on his palms. “Go back to monster hunting?”

“Home,” Thorin said, and the word sent a wave of longing over him. “I’ll be able to go home once this is over. See my family again.”

His head tilted. “You don’t talk about your family much.”

“It’s been ten years since last I saw them.” He lowered his gaze to the sand, the gentle shift of it beneath the waves. While it had been ten years for him, it would only be a few weeks if Gandalf’s estimate was correct. A part of him was scared to see his sister and his nephews, so unchanged when he was the exact opposite.

Bilbo reached over and squeezed his hand. “You must miss them terribly.”

“I do.” Thorin tore his gaze from the ocean. “And your family? I’ve not heard you speak of them much either.”

He could tell by the way Bilbo’s shoulders rose and fell that this wasn’t a comfortable topic for him either. “I’ve got quite a few cousins and aunts and uncles. Most of them live further north. None of them are quite like...well. None of them would be running off chasing after thieves like I am.”

“I imagine that’s the case for most sane people.”

“And here we are anyway.” Bilbo leaned against him, his head tilting back to look at the sky. “I think I’d want things to be different when I go back home. I’d want to be more like you, do more to help others. Not monster hunting, obviously, but certainly something more than what I’ve been doing.”

Thorin smiled. For all his other flaws, Bilbo had a good heart. He was brave and selfless and so different from so many of the people he had met in this world.

With one hand, he turned Bilbo’s head towards him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Bilbo put a hand on his jaw, fingers trailing lightly over his beard, and deepened the kiss. Thorin turned his head for a slightly better angle, but then Bilbo moved his hand down to brace against his thigh and turned so they were closer. Heat flooded his body as his other hand came up to grasp at the hair at his nape. They continued on like that for a few more moments before Bilbo pulled back, his cheeks flushed.

“Sorry. Got a bit carried away, there.”

“I don’t mind,” Thorin said, his voice slightly hoarse. In this position, Bilbo was practically on top of him. The palm pressed against his thigh was heavy, and left a brand of heat even as it was lifted away.

Bilbo shifted so they were sitting side by side, but at a more respectable distance apart. “Well, this is hardly the time or place to...to…” He put his hands in his lap. “Ahem.”

Thorin placed his hands in the same position, taking a deep breath of the cool night air to try and calm the heat racing through his veins. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had had such a strong effect on him. But if Bilbo was uncomfortable with going further than that, then he would respect his wishes.

“But perhaps you’ll come visit me sometime? Once this is all over?” He fixed him with a hopeful smile, his face still slightly flushed.

“I…” The thought sobered him up like a bucket of cold water. “I don’t believe that would be possible.”

Going home meant leaving this world, and leaving Bilbo behind with it. The thought had been at the back of his mind for a while, but after the events of the past few days, it left him feeling numb.

“Oh.” Bilbo’s gaze turned towards the sea. “Right. Well, I suppose your home must be quite far from where I live, and—”

“No, that’s not it.” He took another deep breath. Bilbo had his complete trust, and he deserved to know the truth. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”

His brow twitched into a worried frown, but he said nothing.

“I am not of this world. Everything else I told you about my past is true. But I had to cross the boundary between my world and yours, with the help of a wizard, to accomplish what I had set out to do.”

Bilbo stared at him for a long while. Then a slow smile spread onto his face. “I always knew there was something different about you. Not that I would have guessed that you were from a different  _ world,  _ but that answers quite a few questions.”

“It does?”

“Well, you’re not like any of the other dwarves I’ve met. At first I just thought it was because you were a witcher, and that you were from a different land, but...there’s something else.” Bilbo’s gaze was keen as it traveled over his face. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Perhaps it was the weight he carried, all the people back home who were counting on him. Even though he had spent ten years without them, his duties as king were an ever-present thought in his mind, as immutable and constant as stone.

Bilbo must have seen a shadow pass over his face, as he drew back and said, “So you’ll be going back to your...your world once this is all over.”

“I will.”

That was the end of it. They sat together in silence as the moon rose over the turbulent sea.

* * *

 

“You remember the plan, yes?”

Bilbo nodded but did not look at him, his gaze still focused on the jagged rocks ahead.

A thick fog hung about the water, and the dense haze only added to the worry in Thorin’s mind. They’d been over everything multiple times—strategies, alternate strategies, fighting tactics, escape routes. He had pushed Bilbo to the point of exhaustion during their training sessions, determined to give him as much of an advantage as possible if he were to be forced to fight.

But everything remained uncertain until they arrived at the thieves’ hideout. There was no way to know how many men were there, how the place was laid out, and what defenses they had in place.

And with this damned fog, it seemed they wouldn’t know until they were on the doorstep.

“All right.” Bilbo shook the map to straighten it and held it up. “We should be nearing the correct spot. Just past that row of little sharp rocks.”

Thorin gripped the tiller and followed his directions, steering the boat between two pillars of rock. They had entered the dangerous part of the sea, where rocks of various sizes jutted from the waves and threatened to sink their boat. The water was relatively calm, but even so there came a couple points where the hull scraped against stone at a particularly tight turn.

“Must be a risky venture, bringing cargo in through this mess,” Bilbo said. He glanced down at the water. “How much of it do you suppose ended up in the sea?”

“Very little of it, I’d guess.”

“Go left around that boulder over there.”

“These men are careful, and their cargo is precious. I doubt they’d let any of it slip from their grasp.” Ward’s men kept a strange collection, indeed. Though none of them were mages, they sought objects with magical properties. Thorin’s key was itself not made of precious metal and could not be sold for a considerable sum. But there was power in it, and that was what the thieves sought. 

After a few more tense moments, they reached a stretch of sand in the middle of the cluster of rocks.The fog hung low over the empty surface.

“Where to now?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo had gone still. He glanced down at the map. “Well, according to this...we’re here.”

“That’s not possible. Check it again.”

“I have, twice! This is where the map has led us.”

“No. We must have missed something.” His grip tightened on the tiller, and he strained his eyes as he searched the fog for a sign of the real island. “Are you sure that—Bilbo!”

The boat rocked as Bilbo leapt out, landing waist-deep in the swirling water. With some difficulty, he waded over to the piece of land, which was little more than a sandbar.

Thorin cursed under his breath and jumped out as well, tugging the boat along with one hand so it would not drift away. Once he ascertained that the vessel was secure, he turned to Bilbo, who was standing on dry land and shivering from the cold.

“I-It doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “This should be the island.”

A chill breeze swept over the small island. Thorin passed a hand over his face, fighting against the wave of hopelessness rising up within. They had been  _ so close _ —he had been sure of it. Yet the thieves always managed to elude them.

“Not right at all.” Bilbo paced to the center of the island, then back again. “Why would they go through the trouble...?”

“They must have moved again.” He turned back to the boat. “Come. We’re wasting time here.”

“No. I’m not leaving until we figure this out. Nothing adds up here—why have a map that leads to nowhere? If they used this place once before, where would they have kept everything? Why go through the trouble of finding a path through these rocks at all?”

Thorin frowned, a dismissal already on his tongue, but the conviction in Bilbo’s voice made him pause. “How, then, would you explain this?”

“Well, they’ve got a good deal of magical items, right? Things that can make you invisible, see the future, shoot balls of fire, and so on.”

“You think there’s magic at work, here.”

Bilbo nodded emphatically. “There must be.”

There was something strange about the fog, an almost heavy tension hovering over the sea. At first Thorin had thought it nothing more than a reflection of his nerves, but now he was not so sure.

“There must be a way to uncover this. They are thieves, after all, not mages.” Bilbo circled the tiny island.

Thorin began to search as well. The isle—no more than twenty paces long and ten wide—was completely barren. No loose rocks, crabs, or even shells were to be found in the sand.

Bilbo had pulled out the map again and was studying it with a furrowed brow. “They steal magical objects,” he said, mostly to himself. “That must mean…” Another gust of wind swept over the sand, and he shivered violently. “Let’s figure this out quickly. I’m not keen to freeze out here.”

They circled the island a dozen more times, and studied the map until Thorin could almost see the outline of the shapes when he closed his eyes. The sun drifted towards the horizon, turning the fog a dingy gray capped with gold.

“I don’t know.” Bilbo rubbed at his eyes with a sigh. “It has to be here. But I don’t know how to get at it.”

“Get some rest, then,” Thorin said. “You’re exhausted.” Both of their minds were spent from turning over the problem for most of the day, and there was nothing more they could glean without the sun’s light.

Bilbo seemed to have only half-heard him, as he sat down in the sand, still shivering, with his attention still on the map in his hands.

Without any wood, they wouldn’t be able to light a fire. There was nothing on this barren island, either, to shelter them from the wind. Thorin took a seat next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll need to stay close tonight. It’s going to get cold.”

“I-I’ve noticed,” Bilbo replied, glancing up at him.

“Here.” Thorin moved forward and rearranged their limbs so that Bilbo settled between his legs. He had never been so casually intimate with another person before, but something about touching Bilbo like this seemed decidedly  _ right _ .

On his part, Bilbo seemed pleased with it as well, as he leaned back against Thorin’s chest and continued to study the map. He pointed to the cluster of rocks around the island. “Does this look strange to you?”

“I’m surprised you can see it at all.”

“I may not have cat eyes like you do, but I’ve spent my fair share of nights staying up late reading.” He traced the path through the rocks with one finger. “It’s a rather strange shape, though, isn’t it? Unique but not entirely random.”

“What are you—”

“Oh!” Bilbo straightened, nearly bashing his head into Thorin’s chin. “I have an idea.” He stood up, and Thorin watched, half-confused and half-curious, as he picked up his walking stick.

Using the map as a reference, he traced the path marked on the paper into the sand with the end of the stick. When he was finished, he stepped back and stared at the marking.

The quiet rush of the waves filled the air. After a minute, Bilbo sighed and said, “Well, I don’t know what I expected to happen. I just thought—”

“Bilbo.” Thorin stood, eyes riveted on the tracing in the sand. Something was moving just beneath the surface.

A dark spot appeared, covering the marking, and he realized a moment later that it was water. The pool expanded and crept across the sand, gradually submerging it.

“Back to the boat.” He grabbed Bilbo’s arm and pulled him towards the vessel. He didn’t know what was happening, but he wasn’t going to risk the island sinking beneath their feet.

They climbed into the boat and watched as the whole of the island was submerged. Before either of them could say a word, the fog, the rocks, and the sea began to shimmer around them. Thorin blinked rapidly as his vision blurred. When it finally cleared, his eyes widened. Beside him, Bilbo gasped.

Their boat was now in a small inlet, floating next to another of a similar shape and size. Surrounding them was a completely different island, populated with trees and bushes and rocks. At the other end of the inlet was the mouth of a wide cave.

“A glamour,” Thorin said. “The rocks were but an illusion.” He turned to Bilbo with a grin. “You did it.”

“Well, I—” He was cut off as Thorin pulled him into a kiss. “You’re very welcome,” he said, smiling as they broke apart.

“We made it.” Thorin held him for a moment longer, then turned back to the cave. Somewhere within lay the end of their journey—Vedric Ward, the rest of the thieves, and the key that would allow him passage back to his home. “Now, let’s finish this.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this to be the kind of calm before the storm, with some romantic fluffy moments. Next chapter will be my signature "schlocky magic battle" nonsense.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 

It seemed the thieves were content to rely on their illusion to keep intruders out. Thorin and Bilbo encountered no obstacles as they ventured farther into the cave—not even guards stood sentinel at any point.

The cave stretched back a little ways before turning to the right. Thorin’s sensitive ears picked up the crackle of a fire and low voices, and he signaled for Bilbo to slow down. They crept to the bend in the cave, and Bilbo peered around the corner. After a moment, he turned around. “I see five men. Their loot is all stacked against one wall.”

_ Like a dragon with his hoard. _ “Are there any other exits? Points of cover?”

He shook his head. “It’s just that one room. I don’t believe they ever expected anyone to make it all the way here.”

Thorin had made sure that they had no warning of it, either. Five men were hardly a challenge to a witcher. They may have a shot at finishing this at last, and the thought swept a thrill of apprehension through him.

Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Bilbo reached out to grasp his arm. “They have dozens of magical objects in there. There’s a chance they’ll use them against us.”

That would stack the odds in the thieves’ favor. There was no telling what manner of weapon they would bring forth until he faced them in battle.

And that was what he would do. Thorin would face them as one of Durin’s sons, and win back what was rightfully his.

“I will take care of the men. You—” He stopped with no little amount of effort. They were partners in this, he reminded himself. “How you choose to aid me is your choice. I only ask that you consider your safety.”

Bilbo nodded. “And you, as well.”

Thorin checked that his steel sword was free in its sheath, then rounded the corner and marched towards the thieves.

The men noticed him a few moments afterward and sprang to their feet. To the left, he recognized the narrow, sly face of Vedric Ward.

Behind them was a disorganized jumble that would have perfectly resembled a dragon’s hoard were it not for the lack of gold. Most of it appeared to be junk—jars and piles of cloth, staffs and rusty shields, boxes filled with a mess of smaller items. 

And somewhere within that chaos was his way back home.

“Witcher.” Ward stood and spread his arms. “Welcome.”

The man closest to him put one hand on the longsword at his hip.

“May I ask how you happened upon our humble hideout?”

“I tracked down your men at the watchtower. Then I found the one with the map.” Thorin drew his sword.

“You killed them all, I presume.” Ward tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Half of my men, dead at your hand. And I don’t even remember what I stole from you.”

“I do.” Thorin eyed the other three men, who had retreated to the back of the room to obtain their own weapons. “And I’ve come to take it back.”

Ward nodded to the man with the longsword. “Heimruc.”

The man drew his longsword and struck out at him in the same motion. Thorin barely had time to ponder the fact that they were ten feet apart before a wave of dark energy swept towards him. He twisted to the side, barely dodging the attack.

The addition of these magical weapons was going to prove a challenge, indeed. He ducked under another attack and lunged forward, striking at the man. No sooner had their blades clashed than another wave of energy struck him dead in the chest, sending him flying backwards.

Thorin landed on the stone floor, shudders racking his body. A sickly, cold feeling swept through his limbs, and it was with a great amount of effort that he pushed himself to his feet. He could now allow himself to be struck by another blow, nor could he let his blade clash with the other’s.

He evaded another strike, and caught a glimpse of the three men who had armed themselves. The first had donned a sword as well, and there was no doubt this one carried dangerous powers too.

The others had chosen much more unnatural abilities. One donned an amulet, and immediately hunched over. Fur sprouted from his skin, and after a moment, it was a lion standing in place of the man. The second downed something from a flask, and his skin began to change as well, becoming—Thorin’s eyes widened.  _ Mahal _ . Something like molten fire covered the man from head to toe, and he laughed aloud.

Ward, he noticed with a scowl, stood and watched like a coward.

Thorin spared a moment to hope that Bilbo had chosen to stay out of this one, though he knew it to be unlikely.

Then the four men moved forward and attacked as one.

Even with his speed and strength and decades of experience, Thorin struggled at first. The other sword produced a different kind of wave that split the stone it struck and would no doubt break bone with a direct hit. With that in mind, he was forced to refrain from parrying, which essentially left him with a sword useless for defense.

So Thorin threw all of his energy into dodging and landing hits where he could. The man with the skin of fire had proved to be an immediate danger. As Thorin evaded the swing of one of his glowing fists, even the proximity left blistering heat on his skin.

The lion was the first to be dispatched. Thorin had fought faster and tougher creatures than it, and the man was clearly used to moving on two legs instead of four. He drove his sword in between its eyes, and its skull was obliterated a moment later as he dodged a stone-splitting blast that struck the lion instead. Blood, gore, and bone spattered against the floor.

The remaining three surrounded him. Thorin dodged another bone-shattering wave that passed close enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled and grunted as a kick to the shoulder nearly forced him to the ground. Bracing himself with one hand, he lashed out with one foot and was rewarded with the crack of bone and a cry of pain.

He pushed himself to his feet, then ducked beneath the other man’s blade and slashed at his leg. Blood spurted from his inner thigh, and Thorin turned away as the man staggered back.

A searing pain clamped down on his right arm, and he cried out. The man of fire had one hand clamped about his forearm, and the incredible heat shot straight through his armor. Two glowing eyes, nothing more than the flickering orange of heated coals, stared into his.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Thorin switched his sword to his other hand and plunged it into his gut. Despite his appearance, the man’s choked grunt was completely human. Liquid fire erupted from the wound and sizzled against the cold stone floor. The hand around his arm lifted, leaving red-hot agony behind.

Thorin jerked the sword out of his stomach, then reversed his grip and stabbed backwards into the torso of the dying man. His blood sizzled as it came into contact with the heated metal. Weakened, he managed only a pained wheeze.

The third man raised his sword for another strike. With one arm injured and the other holding a rather occupied sword, Thorin knew he would not be able to block the blow.

But before he could deliver the swing, the man jerked back, choking. A knife—Bilbo’s knife—protruded from his throat. He stumbled back and collapsed, red soaking the front of his shirt.

Blood and fire pooled at his feet as the four men lay dead.

Thorin shot a brief glance towards Bilbo, who was standing at the entrance to the room. His eyes were wide, face pale, and his grip on his walking stick was white-knuckled. He gave him a brief nod of thanks and turned around.

Ward had not moved from his place near the cave wall. His face, too, was drained of blood as he gazed at his fallen underlings. He turned to Thorin, and anger sharpened the dull shock in his eyes.

“You killed them all.”

Flicking the blood from his sword, Thorin advanced on him. “You know what I am capable of. Return to me what was mine.”

A vindictive edge filled his voice as he said, “Do witchers feel pain, I wonder? Do you know what it’s like to have a sword driven into your stomach?”

Something flashed in his hand. Thorin tensed up, but it was only a sliver of silver. A needle, he realized.

“Would you like to find out?”

Ward pinched the needle between his thumb and forefinger, holding it by the tips so blood welled up on his skin.

No sooner had the tiny gleam of red registered in his vision than a piercing agony lanced through his abdomen. Thorin faltered, gritting his teeth as a groan of pain escaped him. He glanced down, one hand passing over his stomach, but there was no blood.

“Or perhaps I should show you what it feels like to be burned alive?” Ward pressed harder, and drops of his blood fell to the floor.

The scalding sensation afflicting his arm blazed across his back. Thorin screamed, eyes screwed shut against the overwhelming pain. One knee thudded against the ground.

Faintly, he heard footsteps slap across the stone, and Bilbo’s voice rang out: “Stop!”

“No,” he wanted to say, but his jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. This pain he could endure, but he could not watch Bilbo go through the same. Breathing hard, he braced his sword against the ground and began to pull himself up.

“What are you going to do, halfling?” Even with his blurred vision, the lines of Ward’s face were hard.

Bilbo was standing between them, his walking stick held in a defensive position. He let out a short breath, drew himself up, then swung his weapon as hard as he could. The tip of the wood cracked across Ward’s temple, sending him to the ground, and the needle clattered from his hand.

“That seems like a good start.”

The pain in his back and stomach vanished, though a ghostly tingle of it lingered. Thorin straightened with a wince, panting slightly.

“Are you all right?” Bilbo turned around and took a step towards him.

“I’m fine.” His gaze darted from the unconscious thief to the halfling, and he quickly checked him over for injuries. He let out a short breath and sheathed his sword. They’d made it alive and unscathed—save for the burn on his arm.

Clenching his jaw against the pain, he removed his half-melted vambrace and tossed it to the floor. Pulling back his sleeve as carefully as he could, he inspected the injury. Though his armor had taken the worst of it, the upper half of his forearm was a swollen, angry red. 

Bilbo hissed through his teeth and placed one hand on the uninjured part of his arm. “That doesn’t look  _ fine. _ ”

Thorin gave a half-shrug in response. After Smaug, he’d seen dozens of cases much worse than his. “I’ll let it cool and put a bandage on later. It will heal.” He squeezed Bilbo’s shoulder with his free hand. “You did well.”

He nodded at the praise, but then his gaze turned to the man lying with his knife still protruding from his neck, and something in his eyes changed. No doubt it was the first man he had killed. Thorin knew how much that could change someone.

“I’m going to start searching through their hoard,” Bilbo said, his voice soft.

“Be careful.” Thorin watched him go, then turned to look at the carnage spread about the cave floor. The whole fight couldn’t have lasted more than ten minutes.

“Thorin.” Bilbo’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “I found their record of everything they took.” He set a large, leather-bound book on a large crate and flipped it open. The motion dislodged another smaller box on the adjacent crate, sending it off balance.

Before either of them could react, a small, black urn fell from the box and hit the floor, shattering on impact.

“Oh, dear.” Bilbo jumped back as an inky black substance spilled from the urn and spread across the floor.

Thorin watched with wide eyes as the substance began to move...and a shape rose from the blackness, dragging it upwards as if it were a piece of cloth. The shape began to take form, expanding before his eyes. Something too thick and stiff to be fur sprouted from the bulky body. Four legs, bulking muscles, and a slashing opening on a jagged snout appeared from the twisting cloud. At seven feet tall, the beast towered over Thorin. It raised its head and roared. The sound did not touch him, but seemed to echo back within the body of the monster, as though it was hollow inside.

Gathering his courage, Thorin drew his silver sword and attacked.

His first strike, aimed for the top of one of the front legs, met its mark. Thick drops of dark blood splashed onto the ground. In this form, it seemed, the monster could be harmed.

And if something bled, that meant it could be killed.

He settled into the familiar rhythm of battle, slicing at the beast with his silver sword and dodging its clumsy attacks. It seemed the creature had traded size and strength for speed with its new form, and Thorin managed to stay one step ahead of its swipes and snaps.

Yet the monster refused to falter, even as the ground turned slick with its own blood. Thorin grit his teeth as he left a sizeable cut in the beast’s hide and it did not so much as let out a growl of pain for his efforts.

His foot hit a particularly slippery patch of blood and nearly threw him off balance. Before he could regain his footing, one of the beast’s legs came from behind and slammed into Thorin’s back. The blow sent him flying across the cave to crash against one of the stone walls.

He hit the ground with a groan, ears ringing with the impact. Pain flared through the majority of his body, though it didn’t seem as though anything was broken. Distantly, he heard Bilbo call out his name.

Thorin pushed himself up with a wince, bracing himself for another attack. But the monster was no longer paying attention—

The monster was no longer paying attention to him because it had been drawn to the sound of Bilbo’s voice.

He ran, not slowing his pace even as his boots slid on blood. Bilbo was standing frozen, the book clutched in his hands instead of his walking stick, which was lying on the ground a little ways away.

There was no guarantee he would be able to kill the monster before it reached Bilbo, and it was too large to shove out of the way. That left only one option.

He barreled past the monster and crashed into Bilbo, sending them both to the ground. One hand went to the back of Bilbo’s head to shield his fall somewhat, and the other moved swiftly to cast Quen. The monster’s leg came down towards them, but a burst of gold energy repelled its blow.

Thorin pushed himself up, checking the halfling over for any injuries.

“Keep it busy,” Bilbo said breathlessly. “I’m going to look for a way to beat this thing.”

He only had time for a brief nod before he was turning back to the monster and striking at its leg as the appendage came down once more. He slashed and dodged, keeping the monster’s attention away from Bilbo and whatever plan he had devised.

But even witchers began to tire. Thorin drew in a ragged breath as the pain plaguing his body throbbed and clamored for his attention. Backing down was not an option. He only hoped Bilbo’s idea would work.

“Thorin!” He was standing at the opposite end of the cave, clutching the tome. “Drop your weapon!”

“What?” He tightened his grip on his sword, stepping around the beast as it lunged for him. Losing his blade went against his every instinct.

But there was no time to question it. The beast turned, its unnatural jaw open. Bilbo caught his eye from across the cavern, his gaze saying,  _ Trust me _ .

Thorin let his sword fall to the floor just as the beast lunged.

Sharpened teeth rent the air before him, but Thorin felt no pain. He opened his eyes, realizing they had fallen shut in a flinch, just in time to see the beast fade from existence.

And the cavern fell silent.

Bilbo set the book down with shaking hands. “I wasn’t sure if that was going to work.”

“What was that?” Thorin asked, walking towards him. But he hadn’t gotten very far before a groan sounded at the other end of the cave. He turned around. Ward was beginning to stir. He retrieved his sword and walked back over to the thief.

Ward watched him with baleful eyes. “Well? Going to stick that through me or not?”

“I’m still mulling it over.”

With a quickness characteristic of thieves, his hand darted towards the needle. But Thorin was quicker, and his boot clamped down over the object.

“You’re not making it any easier for me to spare your life.” He moved his foot, and the needle skittered across the floor, away from them.

Ward finally seemed to notice the black smears of blood across the floor and frowned. “Cracked the urn, did you?”

“That’s none of your concern. The beast is gone, now.” He stepped closer. “The black key you took from me. It is still here?”

Ward shrugged, and a lazy grin stole over his face. “Dunno. We may have rented it out to someone.”

Thorin’s grip on his sword tightened. “For your sake, you should hope you did not.”

He lifted his chin in defiance. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Quite simple, that,” Bilbo said, startling Thorin with his quiet approach. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. He watched as the halfling flipped open the book and scanned the neat columns within. “You’re looking for a key, right? It says it’s still here.”

Thorin let out a tiny sigh of relief, his sword lowering until the tip nearly touched the ground. He wanted no more death at his hand. They were at the end of their journey, now, and they’d gotten what they’d wanted.

He faced Ward. “I’ve come to reclaim what is mine. As long as you stay out of my way, I have no quarrel with you.” His hand released his sword. “And my job is to kill monsters, not humans.”

Ward was watching him with uncertainty, his body filled with hesitant tension. After a minute, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted for the exit.

Thorin let out a low breath, hoping he had not made the wrong choice, and turned back to Bilbo. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He began walking towards him. “But, uh, sorry about knocking over that urn. I’d no idea it had a monster inside.”

“I know you didn’t. And we managed to kill it in the end. Though I’m not sure how you knew how to make it disappear.”

He gestured with his chin to the book, which was lying open on one of the boxes. “They keep records of what every item does. These two, apparently, make things disappear.” He shrugged. “I thought it was worth a shot.”

Thorin smiled, pride swelling in his chest. “Well done, Bilbo.” He reached out for him, but stopped as the halfling held up one finger.

“Not now! You’ll get blood all over me again.”

“That’s already happened, I’m afraid.” Thorin glanced at the dark stains on his coat from when he had tackled him earlier.

“All right, then.” A smile twitched on his lips. “Just this once. And just because we won.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck.

And as he returned the embrace, it struck him—the thieves and monsters were defeated, and their stolen items returned. At last, they had reached the end of their journey.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

 

The box crashed to the floor, its contents rattling as it skidded into the mess of dark blood cooling on the cave floor.

“Would you mind being a bit more gentle with those?” Bilbo asked. He was at the opposite end of the treasure pile, sifting through its contents in search of whatever had been stolen from him.

Thorin growled under his breath and pushed another crate out of his way. They had spent the past hour searching through the mess, and he had come no closer to finding his key. The contents of the crate—half a suit of armor, several papers, and a bundle of shiny yellow fabric—spilled onto the floor.

“Some of those things might be  _ explosive _ .”

“Well, what does the book say?” Thorin strode over to where the volume was lying open on a small stone table. His bloodstained fingers left dark smears across the paper as he flipped through the pages. “Did they not write the locations of all their objects?”

“Only if it’s been rented out or not.” Bilbo sighed and closed the lid of the trunk he’d been rifling through. “This wasn’t exactly the most organized operation.”

Thorin located the entry for his key, and was relieved to find that it was still within the hoard.

 “The only thing we can do is keep looking. And we’ve got all the time in the world,” Bilbo continued.

They had time, yes, but he had spent a decade waiting to return home. As his goal drew ever closer, his impatience mounted. He shut the book and turned to search another box.

As he searched, he found himself sifting through his memories as well—the laughter of his nephews, the gates of Erebor, the familiar flow of Khuzdul. Soon he would be back among his kin.

“Ah, here it is!”

Thorin looked up and made his way over to Bilbo. “You found what you were looking for?”

“I did.” He held up a small piece of white cloth with a smile.

“What is it?” Thorin stepped closer.

“My handkerchief!” Bilbo held it up to show him the initials  _ B. B.  _ embroidered in red on one corner.

He tilted his head, his own worries forgotten for the moment. “Your handkerchief?”

“Yes. You know, generally they’re used for keeping oneself clean, drying off the face, that sort of thing.”

“You came all this way… You risked your life...for a  _ handkerchief _ ?”

Bilbo slipped it into his pocket, his expression blank. “I told you, it was an important family heirloom.”

Thorin shook his head. “These are all magical objects. What does yours do?”

“Family secret,” he said with a wink.

He crossed his arms. “I could find it in the book.”

“Well, that would just be cheating, wouldn’t it?” Bilbo smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for? I can help you.”

“I’m looking for a large black key.”

“What, did you accidentally lock yourself out? Is that why you can’t get home?”

“Very funny.” Thorin rolled his eyes, then turned and began sifting through another one of the boxes.

“What should we do with all of this, anyway? The things that don’t belong to us, that is.”

Thorin had considered taking a few items with him. Some of the weapons would certainly prove useful—and he would need every advantage he could get when he faced Smaug.

“I was thinking I could take some of this back to the mainland with me when I go home. I could try and return them to their proper owners.”

He turned towards Bilbo with a frown. “What?”

“I mean, they  _ are _ all stolen goods.” He raised a brow, apparently misreading Thorin’s look.

“You’re right.” He averted his gaze. “It’s only right that they be returned.” It had slipped his mind that Bilbo was to leave him once this was all over. A tense discomfort began to grow in his chest as his impatience to return to his homeworld was tempered by his desire to keep Bilbo by his side.

Ten minutes later, he found his key at the bottom of a box near the edge of the pile. As Thorin closed his fingers around it, the comforting weight of it in his hand lessened a small amount of the unease in his mind. He had come this far, and that meant though there was still a ways to go yet, he would be able to find his way.

He turned around. Bilbo was standing in silence, arms crossed as he surveyed the carnage spread over the floor of the cave. The tension in his shoulders was evidence enough as to what he was thinking.

Wounds could heal, but this—the stench of death, the sound of pain and violence—would never truly fade. He lifted a hand to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some fresh air.”

They were halfway down the tunnel leading to open air when the scent of smoke reached his nose. Thorin breathed out a curse and broke into a run, with Bilbo close behind. They reached the exit of the cave a minute later, but they were already too late. 

Their boat had gone up in flames. Already, the hull was charred black in places and obscured by a thick haze of smoke. The mast cracked in the heat and fell into the water, along with the remaining tatters of the sail. Tiny orange sparks landed in the water and winked out one by one. The other boat, the one belonging to the thieves, was nowhere to be found.

Thorin’s hands curled into fists. “ _ Abrâfu shaikmashâz _ . I should never have spared his life.” He stalked down to the edge of the water, surveying the vessel, but there was no point in putting out the fire. The boat was damaged beyond repair. He turned towards Bilbo, not knowing what to say. That had been his one chance to return home, and it had been Thorin’s decision that had taken that chance away. “I’m sorry.”

Bilbo tore his gaze away from the boat. “Sorry? For what?”

“This was my mistake.” He walked back towards him. “I should not have let Ward go. Then we would still have a way off this island.”

Shaking his head, Bilbo reached out to grasp his arms, then pulled back as Thorin let out a hiss of pain. “Sorry, sorry! We should probably get that patched up.”

Thorin glanced down at his forearm. The pain was still intense, though his adrenaline from the fight had lessened its intensity for a while. Dark blood from his fight with the beast had been smeared on the burn in a couple places.

Wordlessly, Bilbo retrieved the necessary supplies from his pack and began cleaning the wound. Thorin watched him work in silence, waiting for him to speak.

“For what it’s worth,” Bilbo finally said as he wound the clean bandage around his arm. “I think you did the right thing.”

“You won’t be able to return home.”

He kept his eyes fixed downwards and said with a shaky smile, “Shame I didn’t learn how to swim, hm?”

Thorin sighed. He would not return to his world until he ensured Bilbo would be able to make to the mainland. But there was only one way off this island, and that would take them to…

He looked up as a sudden hope struck him. “Come back with me.”

Bilbo met his gaze with wide eyes. “What?”

“I could take you back to my world.” Thorin straightened. “You could come with me when I make the journey to take back Erebor. And you would have a place there, a new home—I would make sure of it.”

He searched his face with wide eyes. “You...You’re serious about this.”

“I am.” Thorin reached up to cup Bilbo’s cheek with one hand. “I would have you by my side a while longer.” 

It had been nothing short of a surprise, how swiftly and easily the halfling had found a place in his heart. But dwarves felt what they did fiercely, and Thorin wanted it to last.

But he would not force this path upon Bilbo. If he wanted to return to his home on the mainland, he would help him back there in whatever way he could. He was no stranger to longing for home.

Bilbo reached up and took his hand away, not unkindly. “I, um. I-I’ll have to think about it, all right?”

Thorin nodded. “Of course.”

But now that the thought had come to his mind, he could not keep it from expanding and unfurling into a vision of the future. He wanted Bilbo to meet his family, to see the great halls of his forefathers and all the other wonders Middle-earth had to offer. His kin and his friends, he was certain, would be happy to meet Bilbo in return.

These thoughts continued over the next couple of days. They spent this time resting and exploring the island. The small area was mostly populated with trees as well as a tiny pond of fresh water. They would have enough wood to build a raft, though Thorin wasn’t sure that would be suitable for getting them back to Spikeroog.

Once he cleared the dead bodies from the cave, they spent some time inside looking through the rest of the stolen items. Thorin selected a knife from the hoard that was written to have the ability to pierce anything. When the time came, he would try it on Smaug’s hide.

The third night since they had arrived at the island found them reclined against a tree near the pond, listening to the crash of the waves and the chirp of insects.

“Tell me about your world.”

Thorin glanced at Bilbo, knowing why he had asked. They had not spoken of the issue of returning to Middle-earth in days, and he had done nothing to push the subject. A part of him was afraid to hear the answer to his proposal.

“It’s a rather diverse place. There is Erebor to the east, where I was born. Across the Misty Mountains lies the Shire, the land of the halflings—or hobbits, as they are called in my world. To the west are the Blue Mountains, where I...where my people live. To the south are the kingdoms of men.

“It is not a land torn apart by war, though it isn’t safe either. Bands of monsters known as orcs roam the land and will attack at random. There is violence, but there is also great beauty to be found in the kingdoms, in the glory and history built over centuries.”

“I’m guessing you’re mostly talking about Erebor.”

“Aye.” When he closed his eyes, Thorin could still see the vast halls, the grand gates, the magnificent tapestries and crafts that had decorated every surface of the kingdom.

Bilbo leaned against him, making himself comfortable. “Tell me about it.”

He had already given Bilbo a brief description on the ship to Skellige, but this time he went into detail. He told him of the forges and their giant tools, of some of the memories of his childhood, of the clever inventions that had improved their lives beneath the mountain.

Bilbo took one of his hands and laced their fingers together. “You really do love Erebor. I can hear it in every word you speak.”

Thorin’s voice was hoarse as he said, “I would do anything to see it again.”

“Even face down a dragon, it seems.”

“Even that.” A touch of humor quieted the melancholy that had filled his soul. “Truly, there is no place like it, in any of the worlds I’ve been to. My descriptions do not do it justice.”

“Well, to be fair, you’re not that spectacular of a poet.”

“I’ll not argue with that.” Smiling, he met Bilbo’s gaze and held it. “Which is why you’d best see it for yourself.”

Bilbo stared at him, searching his face. He took a deep breath. “When can we leave?”

A mixture of surprise and elation jolted through him. Thorin grasped both of Bilbo’s hands and pulled him to his feet. “You’re certain?”

He tightened his grip as he looked into his eyes. “I said I’d want to do something good with my life when this was all over. And I can think of no better start than to see this through with you. And if it takes me to another world, then…” He shrugged, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Well, that’s all part of the adventure, isn’t it?”

Thorin leaned down and sealed their lips together, affection and hope and an emotion he couldn’t yet name surging through his veins. His arms shifted to encircle Bilbo as they had numerous times before, yet this moment felt different—there was possibility now, a future that had not existed before.

After a period of time that could have been seconds or minutes or hours, they broke apart. Bilbo smiled up at him, fingers absently stroking the line of his jaw. “Shall we?”

Thorin stepped back and withdrew the key from his pocket, his entire body thrumming with nerves. Facing the pond, he held it out, as though poised to unlock a door. He let his eyes slide closed and murmured, “ _ Azhâr _ .”

A rushing noise, like the blaze of a flame, filled the air. Thorin opened his eyes to see a portal, ringed with flickering orange light and disappearing into a deep black, before him. He glanced over at Bilbo, who reached over and took his hand.

Together, they stepped forward and entered the portal.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to The Dwarrow Scholar for the Khuzdul phrases Thorin uses. The first one means "descendant of rats" which seems pretty fitting for a thief. The word that opens the portal means "home."  
> And with that, our tale is concluded! Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos or comments, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing this, as the premise was pretty self-indulgent on my part.  
> As you can probably guess, I do have a sequel planned, and I should have the first chapter posted in a week or two.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not familiar with the Witcher series, I try to explain all the lore in a way that makes sense, so you don't need to read the books/play the games to enjoy this fic. For those of you that are familiar, this is going to take place during the Witcher 3 era.  
> I came up with this idea mainly because I don't like the whole "Hey, Erebor's army couldn't defeat the dragon, so let's try six more!" I'd much rather upgrade Thorin and have him go apeshit on the dragon himself. This is also going to be a slightly darker characterization of Thorin, but hopefully not too dark.  
> Next chapter we will meet our favorite hobbit (or halfling as they are called in this world), so I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and will think about reading the next one when it's up!


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